


SNAFU

by darenotlove



Series: SNAFUBAR [1]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Hanson, Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 68
Words: 279,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darenotlove/pseuds/darenotlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why can't I get him out of my head?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh. I stupidly managed to delete all 44 chapters of this story when I went to post chapter 45. *sigh* Here we go again...
> 
> I know this pairing is completely crazy, but I couldn't help myself. I love them both, and I had this random dream about them hooking up at a bar one night. That dream led to a one shot, and that one shot led to a slew of ideas that wouldn't stop plaguing me until I put them down on 'paper'.
> 
> I hope some of you are willing to give this crack ship a try, and that maybe you'll like it if you do. ;)
> 
> P.S. This story DOES feature mentions of a _past_ relationship between Taylor and Zac Hanson. Yes, they are brothers.

  


 

 

_New York City, New York - June 22 nd, 2010 _

 

_  
_

Why can't I get him out of my head?

 

This kind of thing doesn't happen to me very often. I mean, it's not like I don't notice guys sometimes, everyone is attracted to people every now and again. But there's a big difference between noticing someone, giving them a second look on the street when you pass them, and being so fixated on them that you can't stop thinking about them even after they're gone.

_That_ doesn't happen to me.

 

I don't have _time_ for it to happen to me! I have a wife and four kids at home, I spend most of my time in the studio, or out on tour, or at the office making life altering decisions about what new merch to include in our online store. And when I'm not writing music, or playing music, or talking about writing and playing music, or traveling, or changing diapers, or watching The Wiggles with my kids, I have my little brother to contend with. We have a very... unique relationship. We're a lot closer than most brothers, we have been since we were kids. The older we got, the closer we became. And what we share is usually the one thing that keeps me sane, and keeps me going when I'm so stressed and exhausted that I don't want to get out of bed. But sometimes...

 

Sometimes he can be such a _brat_!

 

Take tonight, for example. Some friends of ours invited us out to a concert at the Nokia that they had some extra tickets for. It wasn't really my kind of music, but we hadn't seen them in so long, and I figured it would be fun to just hang out and relax, have a few drinks and let someone else put on the show for once. Ike wanted to get home to Nikki and the boys, but Zac and I decided to change our flights and stay in New York a couple of extra days for the concert. Which I stupidly assumed meant that he wanted to actually attend it. But no. My brother, spoiled brat extraordinaire, wanted to stay in our hotel room alone all night. And don't get me wrong, I love being alone with him, and being alone with him is becoming a rarer and rarer occurrence these days. But we could have done our thing _after_ the show, _after_ seeing our friends for the first time in months. All he had to do was compromise with me and be patient! Unfortunately those are two things he's not especially good at, never has been.

 

We got into a fight. He told me to go to the show if I wanted to, but not to expect him to just be lying around waiting for him when I got back. So I went to the show, and I had a great time... and now I'm sitting in a bar across the street from our hotel, delaying going back inside because even though he said he wouldn't be lying around waiting for me, I'm pretty sure he is. And I want to make him suffer. Petty? Yes. But he deserves it.

 

Besides... I can't go over there and be with him while my mind is still on someone else.

 

I don't know this person, I've never met him, never seen him before in my life. All I know about him is that he plays the bass guitar, and I couldn't stop staring at him throughout the _entire_ show tonight. He's quite possibly the prettiest guy I have ever seen. I don't just mean good looking, I mean _pretty_. And I don't think it's because of the makeup.

 

That's another thing: he wears makeup! I've _never_ been attracted to guys who wear makeup before. I have nothing against it, I just don't find it attractive. Or... I didn't. This doesn't make any sense! He's nothing like the guys I usually find myself checking out, not his hair, or his clothes, or his build. And yet I was _completely_ mesmerized by him. I still am, and he's not even in front of me anymore!

 

“Blue Moon, please.”

 

I instinctively glance at the person who just sat down next to me at the bar, wanting to see who this stranger is that I'm now sharing some of my personal space with. And I end up doing a double take because it's _him_.

 

Of all the bars in the whole city, he walked into mine.

 

“Hi.” I blurt out unthinkingly, earning myself a brief once over and a raised eyebrow.

 

“Hi...”

 

“Sorry, I don't mean to bug you or anything, but... you play bass for Adam Lambert, right?”

 

A knowing look appears in those intriguingly dark eyes of his, and he gives a single nod of confirmation. “Yeah, I do.”

 

“You were amazing tonight.”

 

It's hard to tell since the light in this bar is so low, but I swear he just blushed. “Thanks.”

 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

 

The words have barely left my mouth before the bartender places a pint of beer in front of him, and he hands him a five dollar bill. It's then that I realize I heard him order the drink, and so offering to buy him one was a really dumb thing to do. He chuckles softly as he pulls the beer towards him and takes a sip, his tongue darting out to wipe the foam from his top lip before he places the glass back on the bar.

 

“How about you just give me four bucks and we'll call it even?”

 

“Sold.” I smirk, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my wallet.

 

“I was just kidding, dude.” He laughs, placing his hand on my arm to stop me. The second he does so, my whole body tenses, but luckily he doesn't seem to notice. “You can buy me one later, though. If you're still around.”

 

“I think there's a good chance I will be.” We share a smile that feels incredibly flirtatious, but it's probably just wishful thinking on my part. I doubt I'm his type. Then again... he's not mine. “Sorry, I didn't catch your name during the show. There was _a lot_ of screaming going on.”

 

With a roll of his eyes, he shakes his head and breathes another bashful chuckle. “Yeah, it gets kinda crazy sometimes. I'm Tommy.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it gladly, the skin-on-skin contact making me shiver a little while he adds “Ratliff” as an after-thought.

 

“Taylor Hanson.” I introduce myself easily, almost professionally, the way I have been for over fourteen years.

 

Immediately, his hand freezes mid-shake, and I watch as his eyes narrow slightly and he leans a little closer, studying my face before his mouth falls open a little. “Holy shit... you really are!”

 

I don't know how I always manage to forget that I'm a 'former child star', and therefore people who haven't paid any attention to my career since MMMBop need a moment to deal with the shock of seeing me as an adult. Most people seem to be under the impression that we never grew up, we remained frozen in time. Forever teenagers, with long hair and barely broken voices.

 

“Sorry.” He apologizes as he finally lets go of my hand. I'm not going to pretend that I don't miss it. “This is just _really_ trippy. I can't believe I'm sitting at a bar with Taylor _Hanson_. It's like... of all the things I thought I'd end up doing tonight, or even this year, I would _not_ have put this on the list.”

 

“I wouldn't have pegged you as someone who'd even remember my name.”

 

“Are you kidding? You're one of the MMMBop guys!” I guess that's better than MMMBop kids. “You made the late nineties a living _hell_ for anyone who owned a radio.”

 

I can tell from his smirk that he's only half-serious, and so I decide to be only half offended. “Thanks a lot, man.”

 

“No problem.” He takes another sip of his beer before reaching into the pocket of his pants. It's hard not to notice how snugly they fit him, even though I shouldn't be noticing that kind of thing at all. “This is gonna sound really creepy, but can I get a picture with you?”

 

“Very funny.”

 

“No, I'm totally serious!” Maybe I'm a gullible idiot, but... I think he really is. “No one will ever believe this happened unless I have proof.”

 

“Uh... yeah, go ahead.”

 

After playing around with his phone for a second, he shifts closer to me on his stool... and then he practically leans against me. His cheek is almost pressed to mine, I can feel his hair brush lightly against my skin, and even though I know that he's only doing it so that he can get us both in the shot, it still makes my heart beat that little bit faster. He turns the screen towards us to examine the picture, laughing at what he apparently considers to be a failed photograph.

 

“Let's try this one more time.”

 

“O-okay.” I stammer, trying to focus on making my lips form a smile rather than how good he smells.

 

“Better.” He nods approvingly over the results of his second attempt. “It's still kinda dark, but at least I don't look completely stoned in this one.”

 

“What're you doing?” I pry as his thumbs type away furiously. “Are you sending it to someone?”

 

“I'm just posting it on Twitter.” He explains, suddenly stopping to look up at me. “If that's cool with you?”

 

“Sure, go for it. Actually, could you send it to me so I can post it, too?”

 

“Yeah, definitely.”

 

Once he's done on Twitter, he holds his phone out to me, and I take it from him uncertainly. When I glance down at the screen, there's a blank 'new contact' form staring back up at me. Again, I try not to read too much into it as I quickly enter my name and phone number. And my e-mail address, just for good measure.

 

“Now that I think about it, I probably could've just told you my Twitter name and then you could've re-tweeted it or something.” He muses, taking the phone from me and slipping it back into his pocket. “This works, too, though.”

 

“Yeah.” Giving a pretty guy I barely know my phone number definitely works. It's not foolish at all. “So... where's the rest of the band?”

 

“Oh, well, we were hanging out after the show, but they were all pretty wiped. And I wasn't tired, so I figured I'd get out and have a few drinks, try to get rid of some of that post-show energy, ya know?” I nod understandingly. I know all about post-show energy, but I rarely drink mine away. “Anyway, the guy working the front desk at the hotel told me about this place, said they had cheap drinks and free popcorn.”

 

“Yeah, they do.” I laugh quietly with him as I glance down at the empty bowl beside me. “It's pretty good.”

 

“And I liked the name.” He shrugs, raising his drink to his lips once again. He has really nice lips. I don't know what it is about them, they're just... really, _really_ nice. Maybe it's the lip gloss. “Snafu is a good name for a bar.”

 

“Yeah...”

 

Part of my brain is aware that I'm staring at him, and I become even more aware of it when he starts staring at me, too. I should look away, because this is getting weirder and weirder by the second, but I don't _want_ to look away. His eyes are so striking, there's something so enticing about them. It's as if they're pulling me in, holding me captive... it feels dangerous somehow. But it's so exhilarating that I'm not afraid at all.

 

A group of giggling girls pile into the bar, making so much noise that they snap us both out of whatever the hell kind of moment we just found ourselves stuck in. He looks down at this drink, and it's impossible for me to see the look on his face in this light (or lack thereof). It makes me nervous that all I can see of his eyes is the smokey color of his eyeshadow, I can't tell what he's thinking. Not that I would be able to read his mind if I could look him in the eyes, but I might be able to tell if he was completely freaked out or not. I struggle to think of something to say to him to break the tension between us, but my mind is completely blank. The only questions I can seem to come up with are really pathetic, and I refuse to ask them.

 

“Wanna relocate?” He asks suddenly, finally looking up at me again. “I think they have some seats up there.”

 

I look over my shoulder when he nods behind me, seeing a small staircase that I never even noticed when I first walked in. It leads up to some kind of split-level loft or something, with what looks like couches and a wall-mounted TV. It's... cozy. Maybe too cozy.

 

“Let's go.”

 

He grabs his glass and slips off of the bar stool beside mine, and I do my very best to ignore the way his hips thrust towards me a little as he does. My faintly shaking fingers close around my own drink as I move to follow him, ignoring the voice in my head that's telling me not to. I know that if I don't follow him, I'm going to spend the rest of the night, possibly the rest of my life, wondering what might have happened if I had. That might sound over-dramatic, but that's how it feels right now.

 

So I get off of my stool and walk across the bar towards the staircase.

 

By the time I make it to the top step, he's already picked out a spot on the red loveseat in the far back corner. We're the only two people up here, and even though we can still hear the voices and the laughter of the people downstairs, and the distinct clacking of pool balls knocking together mingling with the indistinct background music, it feels as though we're in a separate place from it all entirely.

 

He has an icebreaker all set to go as I drop down onto the opposite end of the loveseat from him, and I spend the next twenty minutes trying to give him the abridged version of everything I've done since MMMBop. For the most part he simply listens, nodding his head in that way people tend to do so that you'll know they're still paying attention. Or so that you'll assume they are, but really they're just thinking about the episode of House they watched the night before. But I know he's listening, because he almost chokes on his drink when I tell him that I have four kids.

 

“Four?!”

 

“Yup.”

 

“And you're _how_ old?”

 

“Twenty-seven.”

 

“Shit.” He shakes his head in awe, downing the last of his beer to take the edge off. “I'm older than you and I don't even have _one_. I don't even have a girlfriend. I feel kinda pathetic right now.”

 

“Hey, don't worry about it. I'm a bit of an over-achiever when it comes to reproducing.”

 

“You're not fucking kidding! I don't think I've ever met anyone who had four kids before the age of thirty, it sounds like one of those cable reality shows. When did you start?”

 

“Nineteen.”

 

“Wow...” After taking a moment to consider it, he sighs in defeat. “Nope, I have no clue what I was doing when I was nineteen.”

 

“It was a busy year for me.”

 

“Yeah, I bet!”

 

“Want another drink?” I smirk, already getting out of my seat and picking his empty glass up off of the table.

 

“ _Need_ another drink.” He corrects me, still staring at me in disbelief. “A couple of those five dollar Jager shots oughta do it.”

 

“I'll see what I can do.”

 

While I'm waiting at the bar for our drinks, my phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see what it was for. The effortless smile that had been on my lips fades when I see the dark blue notification box on the screen. It's a text message from Zac.

 

_where are you?_

 

With an indignant snort, I turn the screen off and put the phone away. He doesn't have any right to know where I am. If he wanted to know, he should have come with me instead of acting like a child and refusing to leave the hotel room. If he could have just done what I asked, just _once_ , then I'd be with him right now. But he chose to throw a fit because he couldn't get his own way, so I'm here instead. Buying drinks for the most ridiculously pretty guy I've ever met.

 

Maybe I should feel guilty about that, if not because of Zac, then because of my family.

 

Maybe the fact that I don't makes me an awful person.


	2. Chapter 2

  


 

 

When I return to our secluded corner, I notice that Tommy is sitting just a little closer to the middle of the loveseat than he was when I left. So when I take my seat beside him again, I do the same. It's been so long since I've played this game with someone. And no one has ever played it quite the way he does. My wife made it obvious how she felt about me from the start, there was no playing hard to get. It's the same with our fans, too. And what Zac and I have developed gradually, naturally, there was no chase, no anticipation, it was always there in one way or another. I've flirted with other guys before, but it was just for fun, nothing ever came of it and there wasn't ever any real expectation that anything would.

 

But with _this_ guy... I just don't know. And I love that feeling. I love the suspense and the uncertainty. He's not throwing himself at me, he's not hitting on me every five minutes, and everything he's said and done so far that could be construed as flirting could also be taken dozens of other ways. For all I know, he just sees this as a quiet drink at a bar with a new acquaintance.

 

Or maybe he sees it as the start of something completely unexpected.

 

“So... what were we talking about?” He asks, setting his now empty shot glass on the table and giving me his full attention.

 

I could remind him, but I'd rather change the topic to something that doesn't involve my wife and kids. “You were just about to tell me how you started playing with Adam.”

 

“I was?” He cocks an eyebrow at me suspiciously, and I'm sure he's picked up on my none-too-subtle subject change, but I'm hoping he won't call me on it. “How'd that happen?”

 

“I was telling you my life story, but I got bored of it, so now it's your turn.”

 

His face breaks into a grin, and he ducks his head for a second before meeting my eyes again. I get the feeling that he's not exactly comfortable being the center of attention, but he plays along anyway. “It's not a very exciting story, really. I'd played in a few bands in L.A., nothing big, just doing shows around town and stuff. And then one day I got a call about auditioning for Adam, and I remembered seeing a video of him on Idol once and thinking he had a great voice and was really talented and everything. Anyway, short story even shorter, I went and auditioned, and we got along really well-”

 

“Yeah, I noticed that.” I tease lightly, nudging his elbow with mine where they're resting on the back of the loveseat. “You guys put on quite a show.”

 

“It's fun.” He shrugs casually, but I can see a blush invade his pale, unblemished cheeks as he looks away for a moment. “The audience seems to enjoy it, at least. Isn't that the point?”

 

“Do you do that every night?”

 

“Do what?” He's playing dumb, batting his eyelashes at me innocently, but we both know what I'm talking about.

 

“Kiss him.”

 

“Oh, _that._ No, not every night. Actually, tonight was the first time we've done it since the tour started.”

 

“And it doesn't bother you?” I ask curiously, receiving only a questioning gaze in response. “Kissing another guy, I mean.”

 

“Not especially. Should it?”

 

“Well... I don't know. Are you into guys?”

 

It's not exactly a question that requires a lot of thought for most people, they either are or they aren't, and they're not afraid to say one way or the other. But he hesitates anyway, as if he's weighing the pros and cons of telling me.

 

“No, I'm not. Are you?”

 

“I-I'm married. And I have kids.”

 

“I know. Lots of 'em.”

 

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to respond to that. It's not like he flat out called me a closet case, but at the same time... he kind of did. He knows I have a family, but he's still asking if I like guys. Normally you wouldn't ask a person if they're interested in members of the same sex when you _know_ they're in a heterosexual relationship unless you suspect that they're actually gay. I haven't given him any reason to think that... unless buying him a drink and flirting with him counts as a reason.

 

Maybe I should back off a little?

 

“The way I see it, it's just an act.” He says simply, leaving me to wonder for a while what it is he's referring to. He didn't seriously just call my marriage an act... did he? “It doesn't mean anything to either of us, it's just part of the show.”

 

_Thank God._

 

“You look at it as playing a part?”

 

“Basically.”

 

“So you're a musician _and_ an actor?”

 

He giggles quietly, leaning over to the table and picking up the second of the two shots I bought him. “I never thought of it like that, but I guess so.”

 

“Well, you're a very convincing actor, that's for sure.”

 

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

 

“Good. It was meant as one.” So much for backing off.

 

I reach out to pick up my own shot, and I do my best to pretend that I don't feel his eyes following my every move as I throw it back. I don't want him to know that I'm so aware of him, I want him to wonder what I'm thinking, it only seems fair. But like I just told him, he's a very good actor. And I'm not. I can't hide how I really feel as well as he apparently can. I couldn't make out with another guy on stage and appear to be enjoying it unless I actually was.

 

Maybe he _does_.

 

He never said he didn't. He said that it doesn't mean anything, but he never said that he didn't like doing it. People kiss all the time without it meaning anything, but they rarely do it unless they enjoy it.

 

But before I can pose this very pressing question to him, his head falls against the plush, suede back of the loveseat, and his darkly lined eyelids close in contentment as a smile curls his lips. “I love this song.”

 

I strain my ears to hear the music that's being almost entirely drowned out by the other occupants of the bar, and eventually I pick up enough of it to recognize the song. Unfortunately, both the name of it and the band singing it are completely evading me right now.

 

“Who's it by?”

 

“Depeche Mode.” He turns his head to the side and opens his eyes to look at me, and I can see a light in them that wasn't there before. An almost childlike excitement. “They're amazing.”

 

“Yeah, they're pretty good.”

 

“No, they're fucking _awesome_.” He argues, and I can't help but laugh at how adamant he is. “You should get their album.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Um... pretty much all of them. Except... no, all of them.”

 

“I'll get right on that.”

 

His eyes close once again, and he draws in a long breath before his lips begin to move, mouthing along to the lyrics of the chorus. I still can't hear the music well enough to know exactly what it is he's singing, but I don't even care. The sight of his lips and his tongue forming words is far more important than knowing what those words actually are.

 

I'm so busy staring at his mouth that I don't know he's opened his eyes until he begins to smile again, and as soon as I start paying attention to the rest of his face, I realize that I've been well and truly caught gaping at his lips. But it's not my fault! He's the one wearing lip gloss. People don't wear lip gloss unless they want people staring at their lips!

 

And what kind of satanic lip gloss is that, anyway? He's had three drinks and it's still there! It's like it's tattooed on!

 

Now we're staring at each other again. I take back what I said before about it not scaring me. I don't know why it does now when it didn't before, but for some reason it feels more real than it did when we were sitting at the bar earlier.

 

“I need another drink.”

 

“You still have one.” He reminds me in amusement, nodding to my remaining Jager shot.

 

So I down it quickly. “Not anymore.”

 

“Apparently not.”

 

“Do you want anything?”

 

“I'll take another shot.” He shrugs nonchalantly, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. “And this round is on me, by the way.”

 

“No, it's fine.”

  
“No, really. You bought the last one, I'd feel bad if I didn't get this one.” Great, now he's pouting. As if his lips weren't distracting enough already. “Please?”

 

“Okay.” I relent grudgingly, reaching out to take the ten dollars he's holding out to me.

 

Only he doesn't let go of it right away. I tug it towards me, but he holds on, giving it a gentle pull back in his direction. There's a playful look in his eyes, and I can't tell what it is he's trying to accomplish right now besides making me so unsure of myself that I start to blush. And as soon as I feel my cheeks burning, he lets go, as though that was all he wanted from me.

 

Maybe that's all this is for him. He wants to see how far he can push me, how nervous he can make me with those hypnotic brown eyes and seductively shimmering lips of his. And he's probably only doing it because of who I am. The second he found out that I was Taylor Hanson, I bet he thought it'd be fun to see if all those old rumors about me being gay are true. Or maybe he's trying to earn himself an “I Fucked The Chick From Hanson” t-shirt.

 

Although, it's more than possible that I'm over-thinking this, and I should just enjoy the fact that a cute guy is flirting with me in a bar.

 

With our third round of drinks of the night in hand, I make my way back up to our seat. I'm pretty sure he's moved closer to my side of the loveseat again, but it's far less noticeable than it was last time, so there's a good chance I'm just imagining it. I sit back down in the same spot as before, placing our drinks on the table in front of us and shuffling a _tiny_ bit nearer to him. Hopefully just enough to make it seem as though I'm getting comfortable, but not enough for him to be aware of.

 

Before either of us even has a chance to say anything, my phone vibrates again, and I mumble an apology as I pull it out to see what the text I just received says.

 

_Who is @tommyjoeratliff?_

 

Rut-roh.

 

“What's wrong?” Tommy asks me, apparently seeing the frown on my face and realizing something is bothering me.

 

“Nothing... just my brother wanting to know where I am.”

 

“Keeping tabs?” He chuckles quietly, though thankfully he doesn't seem to think it's too weird.

 

“Something like that.”

 

I quickly tap the Twitter app on the screen and hit the icon to see any tweets mentioning us. Sure enough, one of the first few tweets on that page is a fan re-posting the picture Tommy took of us together, with both our twitter name and his. I guess that explains how Zac knows who I'm with. After closing the app, I quickly go back to my texts and type a reply to his message.

 

_If you were here, you'd know._

 

Yes, I'm being a childish jerk. But he started it!

 

“Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah, sorry.” I sigh, slipping the phone back into my pocket and reaching for my shot glass as he does the same. “He wanted to hang out tonight, but I wanted to go to the show instead, so now he's pissed at me for ditching him.”

 

“Aw.” We both tip our shot glasses back, the burning alcohol making it's way down our throats before he cringes and speaks again. “If you wanna leave-”

 

“No, I _really_ don't.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah, I'm sure. I'm having a good time.”

 

“Me too.” He smiles genuinely and pushes his messy blonde hair out of his eyes, where it stays for all of two seconds before half of it falls back across his face again. Is it bad that I want to touch it? “I still can't believe I'm doing Jager shots with Taylor fucking Hanson. You look _so_ totally different from how I remember.”

 

“How do you remember me looking?” I bet he's going to say that he remembers me looking like a girl.

 

“You had long, blond hair, and rosy cheeks-”

 

“I did _not_ have rosy cheeks!”  
  
“You so did!” He snickers, and it makes me want to smile so much that I can't even keep a straight face long enough to glare at him. “But your eyes are the same. That's how I could tell it was really you when you introduced yourself.”

 

“You have a really good memory then. I can't remember stuff like that about _anyone_ from that long ago.”

 

“Yeah, well...” A pink blush sweeps across his soft cheeks. “I spent some quality time looking at pictures of you back then.”

 

Quality time? What does that mean?

 

Is he saying he jerked off to pictures of me when he was a teenager?! No... that can't be it. But if it's not, then why does he look so embarrassed? And if that _is_ what he's saying, am I supposed to find it hot or disturbing? Because my gut reaction was “that's weird”, but the more I think about it, the more of a turn on it is.

 

“It's not what you think.” He amends, and I do my best to seem like I wasn't thinking anything at all. “Okay, maybe it kind of is.”

 

“What are you talking about?” I laugh uncertainly, my eyes trained on his tongue as he moistens his lips nervously.

 

“I can't believe I'm telling you this, but when I was like... sixteen, seventeen years old, I was going out with this girl who was a big Hanson fan. I mean _huge._ We're talking posters _all over_ her bedroom walls. She even had one of you right over her bed.”

 

Oh, _gross_! “Nice.”

 

“Yeah, well, sometimes when we were in her room, you know... fooling around and stuff... I'd open my eyes, and look up... and there you were, staring right back at me. It was kinda like I was fooling around with you instead.”

 

Huh.

 

Strangely enough, now it's not so gross.

 

“Wow... dude, I'm really sorry.” I smirk, trying to sincerely commiserate with him because it seems like that's the most appropriate thing to do here.

 

“Don't be. _I'm_ not.”

 

He's so good at leaving me speechless. I open my mouth to say something, _anything_ , even “oh” or “huh” or a sound that's not actually a word. Just something to prevent me from sitting here in silence like an idiot while he watches me shyly to see if I'm going to respond.

 

“Note to self: fourth drink was a _bad_ idea.”

 

“N-no. It's okay.” Gee, _that_ sounded convincing. “I'm... uh... flattered?”

 

“You seem really sure about that.” He giggles, running his fingers through his hair again, his painted nails glinting at me in the light of the small candle sitting on the table. I wish _I_ could run _my_ fingers through his hair. “Okay, it's your turn.”

 

“My turn?” I practically squeak.

 

My turn to what?

 

“I just humiliated myself, so now you have to tell me something equally embarrassing to make me feel less like a creeper.”

 

“No I don't!”

 

“Yes you do!” He insists as he shoves me playfully on the shoulder. “Otherwise it's not fair.”

 

“Hey, I didn't _make_ you humiliate yourself.”

 

“You plied me with alcohol!”

 

My mouth falls open in indignation, which just leaves him cracking up all over again. “The Jager shots were _your_ idea, thank you very much. It's not my fault you're a lightweight.”

 

“I know, but it makes me feel better to blame it on someone else.” He admits devilishly.

 

The mischievous gleam in his eyes sends a shiver down my spine. They look almost black in this low light, so wild, it's almost like a warning. I shouldn't get any closer than I already am, it's not safe. But I find myself shifting a little nearer to him anyway.

 

“Okay...” I take a deep breath, preparing myself to confide something embarrassing, and he bites back an excited grin as he waits for me to continue. “I'd never paid any attention to Adam Lambert before I went to the show tonight-”

 

“That _is_ embarrassing, but not embarrassing enough.”

 

“Let me finish!” I chuckle softly, returning the pathetic shoulder shove he gave me a minute ago. Any excuse to touch him. “I'd never paid any attention to him before the show... and I didn't pay any attention to him during the show, either.”

 

“If you weren't paying attention to him, what were you paying attention to?” He asks, his eyes darting down to my lips, just for a second.

 

“You.”

 

The corners of his mouth twitch as they try to form a smile, but it seems as though he's stopping himself. Maybe he doesn't want me to know that he's happy about my little revelation. Or maybe he thinks I'm an idiot and doesn't want me to feel like one, so he's trying not to laugh at me.

 

“I'm... uh... flattered?” He finally replies, allowing me to exhale the breath I'd unknowingly been holding.

 

“Musician, actor, _and_ comedian.”

 

“What can I say? I like to try my hand at everything.”

 

“Me too.”

 

Right now, I want to try my hand at _him_. And I'm going to take the fact that he's leaning towards me as a sign that the feeling is mutual. The closer we get, the harder it is for me to remember how to breathe properly. I can't decide which is more of a turn on: him gazing longingly at my lips like he hasn't kissed anyone in ten years, or the way he looks at me when his eyes can bear to tear themselves away from my mouth long enough to meet mine.

 

But just as I'm working up the courage to cross that last line and almost literally dive in, he stops and ducks his head, breathing a frustrated sigh.

 

“I'm sorry, I can't. I have this rule...”

 

“What rule?”

 

“About screwing around with married people.”

 

“Oh...”

 

I should probably have a similar rule about messing around with people, since I'm the one who's married. And honestly, I do. I've _never_ cheated on my wife before. Except with Zac. But I don't count that, because he had me first, and if the rest of the world could be okay with what we share, neither of us would've ever gotten married in the first place.

 

“Fuck it.” He mutters, and the next thing I know, his lips are pressed to mine.

 

They feel as good as they look. Better actually, which is insane, considering the fact that they're the softest looking lips I've ever seen. Zac's are soft, but not like this. And Tommy's lips are no bigger than Zac's, so there's no logical explanation for how they could possibly be softer when they aren't any fuller. But they _are_ , and they're driving me crazy. I don't know how to kiss him! I feel as though I should be gentle, because his lips are so yielding. But the very same thing about them makes me want to be a rougher, to see if there's any limit to their submission.

 

I don't even get far enough into that internal debate before he takes the decision out of my hands. His tongue slips past my lips without waiting for any kind of invitation, his kisses becoming more demanding as his fingers lace themselves in my hair. I wouldn't have guessed from his previous demeanor that he would be so forceful, but I have to admit that I like it. I spend so much of my time trying to stay in control of everything I'm doing, of _myself_ , to simply surrender to him this way feels like some kind of release.

 

It's freedom, something I don't have much of anymore.

 

I don't think I've ever been kissed like this. I can't even put into words what's so different about it, what sets it apart from the kisses I've become so used to over the years. But as our tongues duel and dance heatedly, and he breathes a moan of arousal when I greedily take his lower lip between my teeth, there's no question that this is something incomparable for me.

 

My hand finds it way to his hip, grasping it and pulling him towards me, and he doesn't hesitate to shift his body closer, until it's crushed against mine. I know that this is crazy, and that we either need to slow down or go somewhere a lot less public. But I don't want to stop kissing him long enough to make that suggestion, let alone leave this bar. There's a voice in my head screaming at me that all it could take for me to lose _everything_ I love is for one person to see us, just _one_. But there's another voice, even louder, telling it to shut up. It doesn't matter.

 

It's the worst (or possibly the best) time for me to get a text message, but my phone vibrates anyway. I try to ignore it, my fingers curling in the fabric of his t-shirt as he all but climbs into my lap. But then it does it again. And a few seconds later I feel it again. And _again_.

 

“You're buzzing.” He breathlessly smirks against my lips, pulling back just a little, just enough so that he can fix me with those dark brown eyes.

 

I sigh impatiently, pulling the phone from my pocket. I kind of want to just put it on the table and forget it's there. But I know I won't be able to enjoy this if my mind is preoccupied with what the messages say, so I force myself to look through them. All four of them are from Zac, which doesn't surprise me in the least. But the content of them does.

 

_I'm sorry_

_I'm really sorry_

_I'm really REALLY sorry_

_Please come back_

 

 

I _hate_ him.

 

Except I don't at all.

 

Damnit _._

“You have to leave.” Tommy eventually says knowingly, pulling me out of the staring match I was having with my iPhone. The barely there smile on his lips is clearly one of disappointment, but understanding also.

 

“I don't _have_ to...”

 

“But you should. It's... better.” He doesn't sound convinced, and I'm not sure I believe it either. But that probably just means it's true.

 

Damnit, damnit, _damnit_.

 

“I guess... I'll see you around?”

 

With a faint not of his head he moves even further away from me, giving me room to get up. “Yeah... I'll see ya.”

 

I doubt I will. I never have before, how likely is it that I ever will again?

 

The idea of walking out of here and never seeing him again is almost enough to keep me from getting off of this loveseat. I don't want this to be the first and last time our paths cross, but I'm really not sure what good it would do to hold onto hope for anything more. I'm not even sure that he _wants_ anything more.

 

What more is there?

 

“Sorry.” I mumble miserably, making my way down the stairs before he can try to reassure me that it's okay.

 

It's not.

 

I'm halfway down the block when my phone vibrates again, and I'm so frustrated by it that I yank it out of my pocket with every intention of throwing it at a passing cab. I don't know how that would solve anything, I just think that it might make me feel better right now. But it's not Zac's name I see at the top of the text message on the screen, it's just a number. One I don't recognize.

 

But the words beneath it are very familiar.

 

 

_don't be. i'm not. ;)_

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

  


 

 

_ Memphis, Tennessee – August 4th, 2010 _

_  
_

I love being out on the road. Some people can’t hack touring. They hate the cramped conditions of a tour bus, the endless string of iffy hotel rooms, waking up in a different city every day. But for me, it’s one of the best things about my career. I love traveling, even to cities I’ve visited a dozen times before. I don’t care if we’re playing one of the nicest clubs in town or one of the biggest dumps in the state; being able to play anywhere at all is a gift.

I’d love it even more if it weren’t for two things. One: the heat. It’s well over a hundred degrees today, and I feel disgustingly sweaty and gross. We just got through with yet another blistering, barefoot walk, and if I have to listen to one more person bitch and moan about how hot the sidewalk is, I’m going to scream. Sometimes I think about throwing in the towel with the walks altogether, half the people who attend them seem to think they’re nothing more than a moving meet and greet anyway. But then I remind myself that they’re the half I don’t care about. It’s the half that _are_ there for the right reasons that matter. They’re the people who are listening, the people who will be most likely to make a difference in some way. And as long as they keep showing up, so will I.

The other thing I wish I could change is something I’m almost ashamed to admit to. Actually, there’s no almost about it.

I wish our families weren’t on the road with us.

Don’t get me wrong, I love them all, but everything is different when we travel with our wives and kids. It’s not like we party the whole time when they stay home, far from it, but it’s still a lot less stressful. It’s not as cramped, there are fewer people to worry about, there’s less noise, less mess, less commotion. And as much as I love getting to see my kids every day, I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t enjoy having a break.

I know I shouldn’t _get_ a break, most parents don’t, but my wife and I have this unspoken deal. I give her everything she wants that money can buy, including a nice house in a nice neighborhood, one that met every criteria on her list, and I submit to her desire to have more kids whenever she finds herself getting maternal _again_. And in return, she doesn’t complain about me being a roaming rock star who spends most of his time in the studio or on the road. It’s probably not the ideal marital situation, it’s no fairytale, but it’s worked for us for the last eight years. Our kids are happy and healthy, they never want for anything. Except me, I guess. But they know I love them, and I talk to them _every day_ without fail. I know it’s not the same as being there to tuck them in at night, but… I don’t think I was ever meant to be that kind of husband and father.

Sometimes I wonder if I was ever meant to be a husband and father at all.

“Sound check.” Zac informs me in a mumble as he walks past me on his way off of the bus.

Make that three things that I’d change about this tour. The heat, having our families here, and Zac’s attitude towards me.

It started long before tour did, though. In fact, it’s been this way for over a month now. It just seems worse when we’re in such close quarters. And I know I it’s my own fault, really. I should never have told him about that kiss, but I thought it was the right thing to do. I’ve always told him everything, _always_. I didn’t want to lie to him, so I told him that I’d had too much to drink and kissed another guy. And ever since then, he’s been upset at me. I’ve been trying to be patient with him and give him time to pout it out of his system, but it’s starting to get on my last nerve now. He acts as though he’s an innocent victim to my unfaithful ways. But he’s not so innocent; I’m definitely not the only one of us who’s ever been unfaithful.

The only reason I keep my mouth shut about it and let him continuously make me feel like crap for what I did is because I feel as though, in a way, I’m _still_ cheating. I still think about that kiss all the time.

I still think about Tommy _all_ the time.

It’s crazy, we haven’t had any contact since that night, but he still finds his way into my head. When I’m lying in my bunk at night, listening to the rumble of the bus engine as I stare at the sliver of light creeping in from between the curtains… I see his eyes. I see his lips, and I see them smile, and I hear him laugh. It makes my skin tingle in a way it hasn’t since that night.

“Come on,” Ike nods his head towards the bus door as he gets out of his seat. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” I sigh, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket as my text message chime sounds.

I’m fully expecting it to be Natalie messaging me to let me know how it’s going with the kids. She took them to see _Cats & Dogs: The Revenge of Kitty Galore_ to get them out of the heat until the show tonight. I actually wouldn’t mind being with them. I’d kill for some movie theater air conditioning right now.

But my heart stops when I look down at my iPhone and see who the text is actually from.

I added his number to my contacts when he sent me that first message after I left the bar. But I haven’t seen his name appear on the screen of my phone again since then (unless you count the pathetic number of times I’ve gone back to look at the four word text he sent me).

_I hear from a somewhat reliable source that you live in Oklahoma._

I swallow hard as I read the words over and over, wondering what I’m supposed to type in response. I haven’t heard from him in a month and a half, and now he’s texting me out of the blue with what appears to be the most random statement he could come up with?

_Who is your somewhat reliable source?_

The more pressing question on my mind is why he wants to know where I live. But I’m working up to it. I don’t want to jump to conclusions. And I definitely don’t want to get my hopes up.

_BillyBob Wikipedia. Senior, not junior._

I laugh out loud, though luckily I’m the only one left on the bus right now, so no one is looking at me like I’m crazy. I know I should get into the venue before my brothers get even more pissy with me than usual, but…

_LOL very important distinction. Everyone knows BillyBob junior is a pathological liar. :oP_

_And his dad is right. I live in Tulsa. Why?_

My fingers tap impatiently on the table top in front of me as I will his next message to appear on the screen. And it takes less than thirty seconds for it to happen.

_How far is that from OKC?_

Okay. There are very few reasons why he’d need to know that information. And every reason I can come up with right now is making my heart race.

_Um... about 2hrs. Again, why? Lol_

That was a very fake “lol”. I’m not laughing, I’m too anxious to laugh. But I don’t want _him_ to know that. I want him to think that I’m totally laid back and that this line of questioning isn’t leaving my fingertips clammy.

_We have a show in OKC on the 6th..._

Even though I _know_ we won’t be in Oklahoma until the end of this month, I quickly pull my calendar up on screen and double check, as though I’m hoping that maybe I’ll be able to prove myself wrong. Despite the fact that I knew we’d be in another state, I still feel myself deflate in disappointment when I see where we’re scheduled to be for the next week.

_I'm on tour right now. :o(  I'll be in MO that day._

It seems as though my text has barely had chance to go through before I get another response from him.

_Seriously?_

How am I supposed to take that question? Is he disappointed, or does he think that I’m trying to avoid meeting up with him? That’s _definitely_ not the case, and I hope that’s not the impression he got from what I said. I could tell him to go and check our tour dates on our website if he wants proof, but I decide to go with a less defensive answer. At least for now.

_Yeah. Sorry._

I can’t remember the last time my hopes soared and then crashed and burned in such quick succession. And I don’t even know why I allowed myself to have any kind of hope in the first place. Hope for what? After what happened last time, I’m surprised he even wants to see me at all.

_Would you believe me if I told you that we're in MO the day after? Lol_

At first I type “seriously?” just like he did before. But I quickly delete it, because if he _is_ serious then I might have to wait even longer to find out the answer to a much more important question.

_...Where exactly?_

Please say Kansas City. _Please_ say Kansas City!

_Springfield._

Damnit! This _sucks_. First he’s a couple of hours from my hometown when I’m not _in_ my hometown, and then he’s in the same state as me on the same day, but not close enough for us to see each other. Even if I didn’t have a show that night, my family is here with me, and he’s too far away for me to attempt to find a way to see him.

_Fuck. We're gonna be in KC that day. That's like 3hrs away._

I continue trying to concoct some kind of elaborate way for me to get to Springfield after our show in Kansas City, but I know we’ll need to travel through the night, and we’re not even going in that direction. There’s nothing I can do about it.

The text message chime sounds again, and I look down at my phone quickly, hoping against all odds that he somehow thought of something I didn’t. But his words only make me feel that much worse.

_We're in St. Louis on the 8th. You?_

Our paths came so close to crossing again, but now they’re drifting further and further apart.

_Omaha. :o(_

Again, I’ve barely had chance to hit send before his reply pops up on screen.

_Well... Shit._

My thoughts exactly.

_Think the universe is trying to tell us something?_

It certainly seems that way. Our first kiss was interrupted by my brother’s incessant text messaging, which left me feeling too guilty and distracted to stay. And now the possibility of us meeting again has been screwed up by our respective tour schedules.

What are the odds that we’d be in the same state, on the _same_ day… but in different cities? It’s like some kind of rom-com misunderstanding that leads to the central pairing being separated for a decade and never realizing that the other person really did show up the way they planned, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

_Yeah. I think it’s telling us to fire our tour managers. ;)_

“Tay!” Speak of the devil.

“Yeah, I’m coming!” I yell back at our tour manager as I put my phone in my pocket and hurry to the front of the bus.

“Where’ve you been? They’ve been hanging out in there waiting for you for ten minutes. Ike said you were right behind him.”

“I just had to do something.” I explain miserably, walking side by side with him into the venue. “They could have started without me.”

“They did, but Zac wasn’t happy about it.”

Why doesn’t that surprise me?

I fully intend to reply to Tommy’s last text as soon as I’m done with sound check, but when I finally get the chance to go back and look at it again, I can’t think of anything to say.

What else is there to say?

We just established that we’re not going to be able to see each other. And considering the fact that I’m on tour until the end of the month, and he probably is too, I doubt there’s going to be another chance anytime soon. We could sit around and compare our schedules all day, but it would be a miracle if they matched up this closely again in the near future.

There’s no good excuse for us to meet up unless we happen to be in the same city or state at the same time. It has to be a coincidence, it can’t require either of us to really inconvenience ourselves. Anything that involves us making too much of an effort would be crazy, we barely know each other, we’re not even friends. Who goes out of their way to see someone they’ve only ever met once before? If we did, it would bring up the question of _why_ , and I don’t want to ask myself that.

His message goes unanswered for the rest of the day, due solely to my cluelessness. And when I don’t hear from him again, I assume that he has nothing more to say to me, either.

I can’t believe I let myself do this again. As if our last encounter wasn’t proof enough that this is too complicated to make any sense.

I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment.

 

_ New York City, New York – September 7th, 2010 _

__

_Thackerville, OK. Sept 10th. Y/N?_

_FYI, I’m not desperate, just curious._

_Not THAT kind of curious._

_Well… Maybe a little. ;)_

I stop in the middle of the boarding ramp in surprise when I see the text that’s just appeared on my iPhone screen. Several people behind me make disgruntled comments about me blocking the exit, but since I can’t remember how to walk right now, they’re just going to have to go around me.

I haven’t heard from him in over a month now. Which is my own fault, I know. I should have said something, anything, even if it was entirely lame. But I didn’t. I’ve regretted it ever since, especially when I found out that his father passed away the day _after_ he texted me. Only I didn’t know that until two weeks after the fact, when I randomly came across the news… on the first page of google search results.

Yes, I admit it, I google him sometimes.

Every so often, I get the urge to see his face or watch a video of him performing. It’s pathetic, I know, but it’s a fact. So I google him or youtube him and I spend ten minutes staring at him and wishing I hadn’t fucked everything up so badly. And then I force myself to close the browser window and get on with my life. But during that one particular search, I found out that he’d lost his dad. I felt awful for him, and I wanted to text him and tell him how sorry I was. But I didn’t know if I should. I barely knew him, and it felt so belated and inappropriate.

“Taylor!” I look up at the sound of my older brother calling my name, and I can just about make out his face through the sea of people in front of me. “Are you coming?”

Reluctantly, I make my way up the boarding ramp and into the airport terminal. It feels as though it takes us forever to get down to baggage claim, but thankfully it wasn’t long enough for our bags to have beaten us here, which gives me time to reply to the message.

_Y! :o) Where are you playing?_

As soon as I’m done texting Tommy, I hit the button to view all of my other text conversations, and I pull up the one I was having with Natalie before our flight took off this morning.

_Slight change of plans. Might not be home until Saturday. Is that ok?_

I feel a pang of guilt when I hit send, but it has to compete with the overwhelming sense of excitement that currently swelling in my chest. Excitement and relief. I know I shouldn’t be relieved that I don’t have to go home for a couple of extra days, especially considering the reason I’m delaying my return. But I feel as though I’ve been suffocating for weeks now, and this trip to New York was like a breath of air to keep me going for a little longer, until tour starts again.

_Winstar Casino._

I don’t have a chance to reply to his message before my phone vibrates with another notification, and I see a text from Natalie waiting for me.

_Are you staying in NYC longer?_

“Who’re you talking to?” Zac asks me in his best I-don’t-really-give-a-crap voice.

“Nat.” I tell him quickly as I type a reply to her.

I’m not lying. Not really. I _am_ texting Nat right now.

_No, I just got invited to a show down near OKC on Friday, so I’m gonna try to change my return flight and head down there instead of coming back to Tulsa. But only if that’s okay with you?_

God, I hope it’s okay with her. Because I don’t know what I’m gonna do if she says it’s not. I also don’t know what I’m going to tell Ike and Zac if they ask why I’m not flying home with them on Friday as planned.

And since my wife is now calling me while I’m within earshot of both of them, I should probably figure those things out pretty damn fast.

“Hey.” I force a smile, hoping that it translates to a cheerful greeting so that she won’t know how nervous I am about what she’s about to say. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just thought it’d be quicker to talk about it this way instead of through texts.”

“Good point. So…” My eyes dart to the side, noting Zac’s curious expression as he watches me from a few feet away. _Awesome_. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. What show are you going to?”

“Oh, uh…” Crap. “It’s Adam Lambert.” She giggles, and I feel myself blushing because I can already tell that she thinks the idea of me going to an Adam Lambert concert is hilarious. “It’s not like I’m a fan or anything. I know his bass player, that’s all.”

“Whatever you say, sweetie.”

“So you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. I’ve got the fort well and truly held down here, go have fun.”

“Thanks. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

I should _not_ have just said that. I know exactly what it is she’s going to want in return for being the world’s most accommodating wife. It’s _why_ she’s being the world’s most accommodating wife. She’s trying to win me over. And knowing her tenacity, and my horrific track record when it comes to telling her “no”, she’ll succeed eventually.

“I’ll start making a list.” She teases, her tone light and playful, but there’s nothing light about the weight that just settled on my shoulders. “I gotta go, baby. Viggo’s calling for me.”

“Okay. Give him a kiss from me, tell them all I miss them already.”

“I will. Love you!”

“Love you, too.”

Despite the fact that I _do_ love her, I always feel like a fraud when I say it. It’s not a lie, not technically, but I know that it means something entirely different to her than it does to me. It always has. She hears what she wants to hear, and she believes what she wants to believe. And I’ve never corrected her, because what’s the point? There’s no going back now, there hasn’t been from the second the words “I’m pregnant” passed her lips for the first time almost nine years ago. It’s better that she believes a lie that keeps her happy rather than having to spend the rest of her life burdened with the truth.

“You’re seriously gonna see him again?” Zac mutters to me the second I’ve finished my call.

“You seriously wanna talk about this now? _Here_?”

“I thought you said it was a ‘one time thing.’”

“I did, and it was.”

He scoffs disbelievingly, shaking his head as he turns his attention to the slowly moving baggage on the carousel. “Right.”

“Don’t make a big deal about it, okay?”

“Don’t kiss him again and I won’t.”

Oh. _Hell_. No. “I’ll do whatever I want. Just like you always have.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it’s pretty damn hypocritical for you to hold what I did against me when you’re guilty of the same thing.” I hiss accusingly, glancing at Ike to make sure that he’s still off in his own little world, tweeting on his iPhone. “And more.”

“That was two _years_ ago, and I told you I was high when it happened.”

“Yeah, I bet you were. The first time.”

“The first time was the only time!”

“Oh, _please_. Do you honestly think I’m that stupid? Everyone could see what was going on between you two, Zac, _everyone._ You weren’t exactly discreet.”

“So… what? This thing you’ve got going with the emo bassist is payback for what I did?”

If we weren’t in public, I’d punch him, I swear. Sometimes I think he’s under the misguided notion that my whole world revolves around him. Of course my kissing Tommy had nothing to do with the fact that he’s gorgeous, and engaging, and made me feel wanted in ways I hadn’t in a _very_ long time. It was just a way of getting back at Zac for fooling around with a friend of ours when he and I were going through a less than smooth patch a couple of years ago.

“No, it’s _not_ payback. Believe it or not, it has absolutely nothing to do with you. And for the last time, he’s _not_ emo!”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever what?” Ike suddenly interrupts, glancing back and forth between us questioningly. “You two aren’t fighting already are you? We haven’t even left the airport.”

“We’re not fighting.” I assure him, plastering a smile on my face. “There’s nothing for us to fight about.”

“Good, ‘cause this show needs to kick ass, and you know neither of you play your best when you’re in shitty moods.”

“Can we just get our stuff and get out of here?” Zac practically pushes me aside so that he can grab his bag before it passes us on the carosel. “I hate airports.”

“At least we agree on something.” I mumble, picking up my own bag and Ike’s.

“Awesome.” My big brother sighs wearily as I hand him his luggage. “I can already tell that you guys are gonna be a joy to be stuck with for the next three days.”

I know he’s being sarcastic, but I actually _do_ plan to be a joy to be around for the rest of the week. I have no reason not to be. Maybe Zac intends to be difficult and do his very best to make this trip miserable for us, but I’m going to do _my_ very best to ignore his pouting and make the most of it. I love New York, and I love playing shows here…

But for once, it’s what’s waiting for me when I get back to Oklahoma that I’m really looking forward to.

 


	4. Chapter 4

  


 

 

_ Thackerville, Oklahoma – September 10th, 2010 _

_   
_

Despite the fact that I’ve been very impatiently waiting for this moment for the past three days, now that it’s actually here… I’m admittedly kind of terrified. I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’m terrified. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now I don’t really know what I’m doing here. Some pretty bassist that I’ve spent less than a couple of hours with in my whole life texted me and asked me to meet him in a casino that’s practically in another state from where I live… and I agreed. I _more_ than agreed, I went out of my way to make it happen. I changed my plans, paid money to change my flight home from New York, rented a car, and just drove two hours from Oklahoma City!

Who _does_ that?!

If I had any sense, I’d get right back in that rental car, drive to Tulsa, and send him a text telling him that I missed my flight from New York. But clearly I _don’t_ have any sense, because I’m...

_Here._

I’ve imagined this so many times since he first asked me to come here. I pictured sending the text to let him know I’d arrived, just the way he told me to. And I saw the smile on his face as he came over to greet me. But not once in all of the countless times I played this moment over in my head did I ever imagine that my fingers would be shaking with nerves when I pressed the ‘send’ button on my phone.

_Where are you?_

I have no idea where I am. I’m standing in a big room, with ugly carpets, surrounded by a bunch of card tables. Not the most helpful description to provide him with, since I’m pretty sure it probably applies to most of the building’s interior.

_Not sure. There are some giant dragons hanging from the ceiling though…_

Seriously, what am I doing here? This is insane. There are giant _dragons_ hanging from the ceiling! I feel like I fell down the rabbit hole or something. I shouldn’t he here, I should just leave. I can tell him that my wife just called and one of my kids is sick, or-

_LOL don’t move. I’ll find you._

Or I could just suck it up and stop freaking out. I don’t want him to know I’m nervous, and he could walk over here any second. I just need to focus on breathing, and try to think of something _not_ lame to say to him when we finally come face-to-face for the first time in almost three months.

It’s only a few minutes later when I spot him walking across the room towards me, and the anxious butterflies in my stomach begin to flutter more frantically with increasing excitement. He smiles the moment he sees me, just the way I imagined he would (only wider), and my own lips curl into a smile in response. But before he can make it all the way over to me, a couple of girls appear out of nowhere and practically jump out in front of him. After holding up a finger to let me know that he’ll just be a second, he turns to them and they quickly seem to strike up a conversation with him.

I know that I don’t know him that well (or at all) yet, but I get the impression that being accosted by squeeing girls in low-cut shirts makes him a little nervous. It’s just something about the way his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, his head slightly bowed as he nods and smiles in response to whatever it is that they’re saying to him.

He looks a little different to how I remember. But it’s not a bad difference at all, in fact… I think he might look better. Which is so strange, because I would have thought that my mind would have exaggerated his looks to the point where I’d remember him as _more_ gorgeous than he actually is. I think he’s wearing less makeup than he was the first time we met, too. It makes his dark brown eyes stand out even more, which I wasn’t aware was possible.

Eventually one of the girls he’s talking to pulls out a camera, and he poses for pictures with both of them before giving each of them a quick hug and walking away. By the time he comes to a stop in front of me, he’s blushing faintly, already shaking his head even though I haven’t said a word about it.

Yet.

“Dontcha just _love_ it when that happens?”

“I’m still getting used to it.” He admits bashfully, glancing over his shoulder as though he’s checking to make sure that they’re not still standing there watching him. “When I signed up for this I knew Adam would have fans following him everywhere, but I didn’t think the rest of us would. Not like this, anyway.”

“It’s weird at first, but it gets easier.” I assure him, picking my bags up off of the floor by my feet and falling into step beside him as he begins to lead me back to wherever it was he came from. “And most of them are totally harmless. There’s usually only a handful of crazies you have to watch out for.”

“Hey, I grew up in L.A., I know _all_ about crazies.”

“Have you had anyone go through your trash yet?”

His face falls as he looks at me with genuine dread. “Are you serious?”

“I thought you said you knew all about crazies!”

“I meant the kind that like… follow you around on your days off, and take pictures of you eating tacos and getting gas and stuff.”

“Those are the benign crazies. At least they keep their distance most of the time. I’m talking about the trash stealing, e-mail hacking, spy on your family and move-to-your-home-town-for-no-reason-other-than-to-stalk-you-daily crazies.”

“Thankfully, I don’t think bassists get that kind of… _special_ attention. I’m pretty sure that particular level of psychosis is usually reserved for good looking lead singers.”

The smirk on his lips right now is incredibly flirtatious, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure that he just hit on me… in some roundabout way. Well, two can play that game.

“I don’t know… sometimes other band members get a lot of attention, too. If they’re hot enough.”

He chuckles softly, and when I chance a look at him, I can see that he’s blushing again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re hot.”

I’m just as stunned by my bluntness as he is. I may have been thinking it, but I _never_ meant to say it! We’ve been in each other’s presence for all of two minutes and I’m already making it blatantly obvious that I want him? He’s going to think I’m _so_ desperate if I keep this up.

“So… uh… how’s tour going?” Smooth, Taylor. _Real_ smooth.

“It’s been pretty good so far. I’m mostly excited for next month, though.”

“Why? What happens next month?”

“We’re heading over to Japan and Australia.” He grins almost giddily, shaking his head as though he can’t believe what he just said. “It’s gonna be _insane_.”

“Definitely! They’re both really amazing places. I can make you a list of things to see, if you’re gonna have some downtime to sightsee and stuff?”

“Yeah, thanks, that’d be awesome!”

“I miss touring abroad, but it’s kinda difficult to do it as much as we used to now that we’re on our own label and we have families and everything.”

“That’s gotta suck.”

I shrug, trying to smile a little more brightly so that he won’t feel too bad for me. “We still get to tour the U.S., a lot of bands don’t even get to do that. I just think myself lucky that I’m still in a position to make music at all, you know? We’ve been a band for almost two decades and I’m not even thirty yet. How many people can say that?”

“Uh… probably just the three of you.” He laughs in disbelief. “I mean, I’ve been around music pretty much all my life, but not to that degree. I can’t even imagine being like… eight years old and playing in a band.”

“Well, we were less of a band back then and more of an acapella group for the first few years. We didn’t start performing with instruments until I was about eleven.”

“Oh, well, that makes it _way_ more normal.”

I give him a playful nudge with my elbow as we walk, and he immediately retaliates in kind. This feels so much easier than I thought it would. I was worried that things would be awkward because of how our last encounter ended, or because we’ve barely talked in months, but it’s not. It’s as though that kiss at the bar never happened, there’s no lingering weirdness, and it’s so easy to talk to him that it feels more like we’re old friends than the one time acquaintances we really are.

When we reach the main doors at the back of the event center, he shows the security guard at the door his pass and explains that I’m with him. And I have to bite my lip to keep myself from smiling too much at those words. _He’s with me_. It shouldn’t sound as good as it does. It shouldn’t make me as happy as it does.

I wonder if there’s a way to get him to say it again?

“We’re just about to start soundcheck, but you can stick around and watch, no one’s gonna mind.” He tells me as we walk down the aisle towards the stage. “I should have a couple of hours before we need to get ready to go on if you wanna maybe grab a drink or something to eat afterwards?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

I take a seat a few rows from the front while he jogs over to the side of the stage and joins the rest of the band and dancers, who are in the middle of setting up. I can tell that they’re all wondering who I am and why I’m here, every last one of them looks over at me at least once. But I’m not the only random observer in the theater, and none of them seem to question Tommy about it as he lifts the strap of his bass over his head and idly plucks a couple of the strings. It’s so strange to see him up there in just a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, barely any makeup on, it all looks so much different from the real show I saw in New York. Again, it’s not a bad thing. He was mesmerizing in “costume”, and he’s just as captivating when he’s not even trying to be.

I’ve done enough sound checks in my life to know that you don’t put nearly as much effort into them as you do the actual performance, but it’s still almost amusing to watch them run through ‘Fever’. I’ve seen a few videos of it on youtube at this point (not _that_ many, but enough), I know how energetic it is, so watching Adam and the dancers barely moving in comparison as they perform is incredibly odd.

My attention isn’t really on them, though. My eyes are almost permanently glued to Tommy as he moves, as he takes a couple of slow steps forward, pauses, taps his left foot in time to the music, studies his own fingers on the strings, throws his head back to toss the hair out of his face, glances at me…

Every time our eyes meet, he quickly looks away as though he never noticed me sitting out here at all. But _I_ notice the way he smiles as soon as he breaks eye contact. And each time he does it, I can’t help but feel a thrill over how momentarily flustered it seems to make him. He does his best to hide it, turning his body away from me, or taking a couple of steps to the side, as though he’s trying to subtly maneuver out of an invisible spotlight.

It’s kind of completely adorable.

“He’s a lil vixen, no?”

Hearing someone’s voice beside me shocks me so much that I almost fall out of my seat. And I can tell from the smirk on this stranger’s face when I turn to look at them that they know how close I just came to landing on my ass.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a stroke.”

“It’s fine.” I smile uncertainly, a little unnerved by the knowing gleam in his eyes. “I-I was just…”

“Enthralled?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“I’m Sutan.” He introduces himself, holding out a hand for me to shake. “I make them prettier than they already are.”

I’m guessing that’s his way of saying he does their makeup. “Taylor.”

“Friend of Tommy’s?”

“Uh…” Good question. “Yeah, kinda. We’re not… I mean… we don’t know each other that well, but we met a few months ago. And… I live kinda close by, so…” If four hours away can be considered close. “I figured I’d come down and catch the show and say hi.”

Great job, Taylor. Because a simple “yes” just wouldn’t have had the same pathetic ring to it.

“Fun.” The smirk on his face makes me feel completely self-conscious. I know he saw right through my awful attempt at downplaying my reasons for being here. “I’m sure he’s glad to see you.” I have no idea what to say to that. It seems like the wrong answer could give me away completely, but I don’t know what the right answer is. “How did you two meet?”

“Oh… well… I was in New York a few months ago for…um… work,” I don’t know why I’m avoiding telling him who I am, I’m sure he’s going to find out sooner or later. But right now it just seems like it’s best to keep it to myself. “I went to Adam’s show at the Nokia with some friends, and then I ended up running into Tommy at a bar a few blocks away later that night.” Sutan smiles in a way that practically screams ‘ _oh_ , I see’, and I feel the need to correct him even though he didn’t say it out loud. “We just had a few drinks and talked.”

“Right.”

Time to change the subject! “So… how did you end up working with Adam?”

“Oh, we go way back. We’ve been friends for years, so when the opportunity to spend practically every night painting that beautiful face of his came up, it was like… point me to my bunk, you know?”

I don’t know, exactly, but I get what he’s saying. “That’s really cool. It’s always great when you get to work with people you’ve actually known for a long time and have a connection with. It’s more fun bringing friends on the road.”

Oh crap.

 _Why_ does my mouth so frequently work faster than my brain?

“Are you a musician, too?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“So you’re in a band or…?”

Fuck.

“Yeah, I’m in a band with my brothers.”

“Ooh, very Partridge family! Anything I might have heard of?”

Yes, but I am _not_ saying the word ‘MMMBop’. I refuse. “Well, we had a song out earlier this summer called _Thinking ‘Bout Somethin_ ’. It got some attention, mostly ‘cause of the video.”

“It sounds familiar… what was the video like?”

“It was kind of an homage to the Blues Brothers.” I can see the cogs turning as he stares back at me, trying to remember where he’s seen me before. Time to put the final nail in this coffin, I guess. “Weird Al was in it.”

His mouth falls open and he points at me almost accusingly. “Oh my God, I totally know which video you mean! You’re from that band... you sang that one song… fuck, what was it called?” Oh boy, here it comes… “You made a music video with Samaire Armstrong in it, right?”

I could seriously kiss this guy right now. “Yeah, we did. It was for our song, _Penny and Me_.”

“That’s the one! Not my usual style, but I got a little hooked on it after seeing the video. Samaire’s _gorgeous_ , I completely adore her. You’ve got great taste.”

“Thanks.” I chuckle softly, amazed that someone recognized my music without jumping right to ‘MMMBop’. Is it Christmas? Because this is some kind of miracle! “We actually didn’t know her, but we all agreed that we wanted her to be in the video, and luckily…” My voice trails off as notice the way he’s shamelessly scrutinizing my nose, peering at it from one side and then the other. “Um… do I have something on my face?”

“Oh, no, I was just admiring your bone structure. Has anyone ever told you that you have a _flawless_ jaw line?”

That would actually be a first. “Um... not directly. But thanks… I-I think.”

“Have you ever thought about wearing makeup?”

The laughter escapes me before I can stop it. Then again, it would have been impossible for me to keep it in no matter how much effort I put into trying. “No, I haven’t.”

“You should.” He informs me seriously, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting my face to the side so that he can inspect every last inch of it. “It doesn’t have to be anything _too_ outrageous, but you could definitely pull off a little-”

“Sutan!” We both look over at the stage quickly as Tommy’s voice suddenly booms through one of the mics.

“Yes, baby?”

“Don’t make me come down there!”

“You never let me have any fun!”

With a devilish grin that I can see even from five rows back, Tommy places his right hand to his lips and blows a kiss to Sutan, who quickly reaches up into the air and pretends to catch it before placing is hand over his crotch. Tommy shakes his head and giggles in a way that leaves my stomach doing back flips, and he holds my stare as he steps away from the mic and returns to playing. Sutan, on the other hand, returns to his in depth description of exactly what he’d do to my face if I let him come near me with a makeup brush. But I’m so distracted by watching Tommy’s fingers caress the strings of his bass that I barely hear a word he says, I just nod and smile.

I hope I didn’t accidentally agree to any of it…

 


	5. Chapter 5

  


 

 

Soundcheck lasted for another twenty minutes or so, and I managed to get out of it without a trace of eyeliner or lipstick on my face. Unfortunately, there really wasn’t any good way for Tommy and I to duck out of the room without him introducing me to whoever showed any interest in meeting me (which ended up being most of the people on stage). And of course, the second the words “Guys, this is Taylor Hanson” left his mouth, someone quickly made the link to ‘MMMBop’ and then they _all_ knew exactly who I was. Most of them were pretty good about it, there was minimal teasing and only a couple of terrible attempts at singing the chorus, nothing I haven’t heard a million times over the last fourteen years. And one of the female dancers even admitted that she’d bought our second album when she was in junior high.

Eventually we manage to excuse ourselves and slip out of the theater to find a restaurant or bar in the casino where we can hopefully get some dinner without too many of Adam’s fans interrupting us. Not that I would mind if they did, it’s actually pretty funny watching Tommy interact with them and seeing how it looks from the other side, so to speak. But I want him to be able to relax, which isn’t easy to do when someone is hyperventilating in your face or asking you to sign their left boob.

After a brief debate about what kind of food we’re actually in the mood for, we make our way over to a British themed pub in what the casino refers to as the “Grand Plaza London”. It’s full of giant, golden lions. Because when I think of England, I think of… giant, golden lions. But it’s not the décor that I’m really all that bothered about, I just want to find a quiet corner where we can sit down with a couple of beers and finally _talk_.

“I gotta say… I’m kinda surprised you agreed to come down here.” He tells me honestly before raising his drink to his lips and taking a small sip. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did, I’m just surprised.”

“Why?” I chuckle nervously, focusing my gaze on the drops of condensation running down the side of my glass. “Did you think I was avoiding you?”

“Well… yeah. I mean, I didn’t hear from you after that night at the bar. Not that I really expected to or anything, but still, after you stopped replying to my texts last month-”

“I’m sorry about that. I just… didn’t know what to say, and then the longer I left it, the weirder it felt. I just thought there was like… this window of time where I could contact you without it seeming totally random-”

“There was? I guess I missed that memo.” He smirks, and I feel like a complete idiot because I know he’s right. If he could text me out of the blue, _twice_ , I could have done the same. “Like I said, I’m glad you decided to come. Truth be told… I was gonna give up if you didn’t.”

“You were?”

“I figured I should take the hint sooner or later.”

“I really wasn’t hinting-”

“I know that _now_.” Despite the teasing tone of his voice, I still feel guilty for letting him think that I didn’t want to see him or talk to him. Nothing could be further from the truth. “Hey, I’m not trying to make you feel bad-”

“No, I know you’re not. I just… wish I’d handled it better. All of it.”

Even though I can’t make myself come right out and tell him that I wish I’d never stopped kissing him or left him at that bar alone, I’m hoping that if I hold his stare for long enough, he’ll know that “all of it” includes that night. And judging by the smile that’s slowly spreading across his face as he looks down at his beer, I think he got the message.

“So…”

“So…” He parrots, his lips remaining in a slight pout for a moment after the word has passed through them. God, I’d forgotten how insanely soft they look. “I hope Sutan didn’t scare you before. It looked like he was giving you a free consultation or something.”

“Yeah, something like that.” I laugh quietly, my fingers slowly spinning the spare cardboard coaster on the tabletop beside my silverware. “Apparently I need to consider wearing makeup.”

“I could see that.” He nods as I stare at him in disbelief. “Maybe a little liner, a bit of a smoky eye… and some tinted lip gloss is a must.”

“ _Please_ , tell me you’re kidding?”

He tries to keep a straight face, but it barely lasts for five seconds before he cracks up. “I _was_ kidding. But now that I think about it-”

“No!”

“You should try it, at least once.”

“Yeah, I don’t see that happening.” I insist vehemently, but he doesn’t seem at all discouraged by my protests.

“I think you might change your mind.” He informs me confidently, shrugging his shoulders before taking a sip of his beer. “Just a hunch.”

“And I think you’re gonna have to buy me more than one beer, ‘cause it’s not gonna happen while I’m sober.”

“We’ll see.”

I don’t have chance to tell him that we won’t see because it’s _not_ happening, because the waitress appears at our table with an overly cheerful smile on her face and two plates piled high with food. She sets them down in front of us and offers to get us some vinegar or mustard or a dozen other condiments, and after we politely decline it all, she finally leaves us to our meals.

Only I can’t eat mine, because chewing requires that my mouth _not_ hang open, and watching Tommy suck ketchup off of his fingertip leaves my jaw practically on the table. He didn’t even _try_ to make that sexual, I can tell because he’s completely unaware that I’m staring at his mouth right now. If he has me on the verge of drooling without putting any effort into it, what the hell is gonna happen to me if he decides to be intentionally provocative?!

“Taylor?”

“Huh?”

He laughs softly, uncertainly, glancing around us in search of something that would render me speechless and slack-jawed. “You okay?”

“Um… yeah, I just…” I just like watching him suck on things. Body parts, specifically. His, mine, what’s the difference? “I just remembered something I have to do… later.”

“Okay…” He definitely didn’t buy that. But I don’t think he knows the real reason for my momentarily unresponsive state, either, so it doesn’t matter. “So… how’s _your_ tour been going?”

“Good, I think. I mean, everyone seems to be having a good time at the shows, for the most part, and I know we’re having a blast. Touring is pretty much my favorite part of what we do.”

“Because you like playing shows or because of the traveling?”

“Both. But playing shows has always been the best thing about being in a band, in my opinion. There’s nothing else like it.”

“I can definitely agree with that.” He smiles, dipping a fry in the pool of ketchup on the side of his plate and forcing me to use all my will power to focus on anything _but_ his mouth as he bites into it. “I do love the traveling, though. I’ve never been ‘on the road’ like this before, so it’s been a real trip, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, I bet. It looks like you’re sharing a tour bus with some very… interesting characters.”

“Interesting is one word for them.”

“Do you all get along?”

He nods without hesitation, taking a bite of his burger. But as he chews his mouthful, he seems to reconsider his answer. “Well… for the most part. I mean, everyone has their bad days, and we all have little habits and quirks that other people find annoying. But we’re like our own fucked up little family unit that way; we don’t always like each other, but we still love each other. I feel as though I’ve known these guys my whole life, I’ve never gelled with an entire group of people this fast, like… _ever_. It’s like this is _exactly_ where we’re all meant to be right now, you know? I guess it’s kinda like fate, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

“I’m starting to.”

I hope he doesn’t think that’s a line. I can see how it might sound like one, but it’s actually the truth. When I was younger, I didn’t believe in fate, I believed in faith. I believed in God, and prayer, and I thought that if I worked hard for what I wanted and gave it my all, God would make sure that I was successful. But somewhere along the way, I lost that faith. I can’t pinpoint when or why exactly, so many things were happening in my life at the time that made me question what I had done to deserve the chaos and heartache I’d suddenly been plunged into. For a while, I thought it was my relationship with Zac. I figured that if anything was going to piss God off, it had to be that. But even after I ended it, things continued to get worse and worse. And eventually I just… stopped believing.

Things gradually fell back into place over the years (including what I had with Zac), there was no rhyme or reason to it, it just happened. But the one thing I don’t think I’ll ever get back is my faith. I don’t believe in a higher power, or a grand plan of any kind. I believe that life will be whatever I make it, and if I’m successful it’ll be a result of hard work and luck, not some reward handed down to me from God for being a good boy.

But how can I _not_ believe in some kind of fate when I’m sitting across from Tommy?

We met in a bar. Some random bar in New York City that I’d never been to before, never even heard of, and neither had he. Of the _hundreds_ of bars the hotel desk clerk could have recommended to him in the _entire_ city, he named the one that I was sitting in. It wasn’t the closest, it wasn’t the most noteworthy, but it was the one he chose. When Tommy sat down beside me, I only recognized him because I’d seen him at the show earlier that night. A show I _never_ would have gone to if my friends hadn’t offered me a spare ticket they had. I could have turned that ticket down, or given into Zac’s complaining and stayed in our hotel room, but I didn’t. Tommy could have come to the bar with some of his band mates, or he could have politely dismissed my attempts to strike up a conversation, but he didn’t. And if the show he’s playing here tonight had been just a couple of days earlier or later, I wouldn’t have been able to come because I would have been playing shows of my own.

Call it fate, call it destiny, call it a string of freakish coincidences… whatever it is, it feels more right than anything has in a _very_ long time.

But as right as it feels, I still have no idea exactly what this is. Maybe I shouldn’t question it, but it’s difficult not to. If I was single and thousands of people didn’t know who I was, I wouldn’t care so much. But even just sitting here with him in some casino on the Oklahoma-Texas border is a risk. And I thought it was worth the risk. I thought there was something happening between us, and whatever it was, I wanted it. He was definitely flirting with me, I could tell from the way he spoke, and the things he said, and the look in his eyes…

But then I saw him flirting with Sutan, too.

What if he’s just a naturally flirty person? I’ve been accused of being one my whole life, apparently I flirt with half the people I talk to, but I don’t _mean_ to. I have no interest in any of them, I’m definitely not hitting on them intentionally. What if he’s the same? What if he only invited me down here as a friend and I’m reading _way_ too much into everything he says and does? I thought I knew how he saw me, but now I have no idea.

“Can I ask you something?”

He looks up at my with a smile, distractedly dunking a fry into his ketchup over and over again. “Sure.”

“It’s kinda random…”

“Random questions are the best kind.”

Fuck. _Why_ does he have to be so cute? “You and Sutan…” A knowing smirk begins to curl his lips, and he quickly averts his gaze from mine. “I could be way off base here, but… earlier, during soundcheck, it kinda felt like you two were… I mean, I’m probably reading too much into it, but you guys were sort of…”

“Flirting.” He concludes for me plainly, as though it’s not entirely weird. “Yeah, we do that a lot.”

“Oh.”

“It’s just for fun, we’re not actually into each other or anything. Not that I know of, anyway.”

Fun is good. It’s great, actually. Except that now I don’t know if he’s flirting with _me_ for fun as well.

“So… you kiss Adam as part of an act?” He nods. “And you flirt with Sutan for fun?”

“Correct.”

“But you’re _definitely_ straight.”

“Yes.”

I am _so_ confused right now. “Okay…”

“Haven’t you ever flirted with someone just for the hell of it, but you both knew it didn’t mean anything?”

“Well… yeah, I guess. But I’ve never kissed someone I didn’t like.”

“I have.” His grin is completely playful, so much so that I don’t even know if he’s being serious or not. “The way I look at it is: a kiss is just a kiss. It’s like a hug or a handshake or any other momentary contact between two people. It only means something more if you feel something more. When I kiss Adam, it’s no different to me than hugging him, because I don’t feel anything more than friendship for him.”

Does that mean he was just shaking my hand via my tongue at the bar that night?

“Okay, then I have another question.”

“I thought you might.” He drops the fry onto his plate and sits up a little straighter in his seat, brushing the salt off of his hands fingers quickly. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yeah. You can ask me anything you want, _anything_ , and I swear on my life that I’ll give you an honest answer.”

Interesting… “Okay. But that doesn’t sound like a deal so much as a really appealing offer.”

With a mischievous grin, he brushes his hair out of his eyes and fixes me with a challenging stare. “There’s one catch.”

“I figured there would be.”

“You can only ask me questions that you’re willing to answer yourself.”

Damn. Now I’m actually going to have to think about what comes out of my mouth. I’m not so good at that. Mostly I just say whatever the hell comes to mind, and if I fuck something up in the process I keep talking until I fix it. Or make it worse.

“Okay.” I agree somewhat apprehensively, trying to word my first question in a way that won’t get me into too much trouble if he then wants to turn it around and use it against me. “Have you ever kissed a guy other than Adam?”

“Present company excluded?” I nod, watching him intently as he tries to remain expressionless. “Yes.”

“When?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, popping another French fry into his mouth as he thinks the question over for a moment or two. “When I was younger, and mostly when I was under the influence. Once on a dare, and a couple of times just because they were there and I felt like it.”

“Were you attracted to any of them?” I pry curiously, undeniably fascinated by his attitude towards all of this. It’s definitely not one I’m familiar with.

“Not exactly. I mean, I found them attractive, in the sense that they were good looking. But I wasn’t necessarily attracted _to_ them.”

“Huh.”

I guess that answers my question, but it brings up a lot of new ones. The most pressing one being ‘did you kiss me just because I was there and you felt like it?’ But he doesn’t give me a chance to ask him before he starts looking for some answers of his own.

“What about you? Have you ever kissed another guy before?”

“Present company excluded?” I tease in an attempt to delay the inevitable. But I guess that’s pointless. “Yeah, I have.”

“When?”

“The first was… a long time ago. I was almost fifteen, and he was actually my first kiss.” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I feel myself blush a little as I look down at my half eaten meal. “The second was when I was eighteen. My wife… well, she wasn’t my wife at the time, but she and I broke up for a while, and it was kind of a rebound thing. Not that I didn’t like him, I did, but… we both knew it wasn’t gonna go anywhere. And neither of us wanted it to, anyway.”

It’s not the whole truth, but it’s as much as I can bear to give him. The truth is, Natalie wasn’t the only one I was broken up with at the time, an Zac was the one I was really on the rebound from.

“So that night we met at the bar, when you said you weren’t into guys-”

“I didn’t say that.” I remind him as lightly as I can, hoping he’s not mad at me for misleading him. I don’t see how he can be, I was sure he knew that I was telling him half-truths.

“You _implied_.”

“You _inferred_.”

After glaring at me playfully for a few seconds he rolls his eyes and sighs in defeat. “T _ouché_.”

We eat in silence for a while, both of us seemingly contemplating everything that was just said between us. Even though he answered my question, I still don’t feel like I really know anything more than I did before I asked it. I know he’s a guy who considers himself to be straight but has no problem kissing other guys. Just because I now know that he’s kissed more guys than I originally thought, that doesn’t make much difference in the grand scheme of things. He, on the other hand, now knows things about me that he definitely didn’t before. Things hardly anyone knows.

That’s _so_ not what I had in mind when I agreed to this.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Fire away.” He tells me through a mouthful of burger, covering his lips shyly while he quickly finishes chewing and swallows so that he’s free to speak.

“Have you ever done more than kiss another guy?”

“Not really…” I can’t tell if that’s his full answer. He’s sipping his beer and staring off across the room like he’s done talking, but there was something so unfinished about the statement. “I haven’t slept with a guy or anything, if that’s what you mean.”

“I didn’t mean that, necessarily, I just meant… anything more than kissing.”

“Well… I’ve made out with a guy, if that counts as more than kissing? It was _definitely_ further than I go with Adam on stage, that’s for sure, but it was still all very PG-13.”

“Right.” Well, that was a waste of a question.

“So how would you rate _your_ level of experience with guys?”

How do I get myself into these situations?

“Uh… kinda more X-rated.” I admit sheepishly, unable to face looking him in the eyes, and therefore unable to see his reaction.

“Wow…” His laughter is quiet, he’s obviously more than a little stunned. “You’re just full of surprises, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it.” And hopefully he never will.

“Okay… just so I’m not _inferring_ anything here… you’re saying you _have_ had sex with guys?”

“Yes.”

“Guy _s_.” He repeats emphatically, just to be clear. “Plural?”

“Yes.”

“And since you only mentioned kissing two guys-”

“I slept with both of them.” I cut him off, answering the question before he can finish asking it. “The guy who was my first kiss was my first… everything. And I don’t just mean with guys, I mean… period.” Again, he looks completely taken aback by what he’s hearing, and I can’t decide if telling him these things is a mistake. Not just because he seems so shocked, but also because I _barely_ know him. And yet, my mouth keeps moving and personal information keeps flowing through it like it’s no big deal. “With the other guy it was just… physical, nothing serious. I didn’t _want_ anything serious at that point, my whole life was too serious. I just wanted to have fun.”

When I finally summon the courage to glance up at him, he’s studying me carefully, but the moment he sees me looking at him he quickly offers me a sympathetic smile. It’s as though he wants me to know that he doesn’t think badly of me for anything I just said, he wants to reassure me that it’s okay. But I still wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

“Sorry, I-I don’t know why I told you any of that.”

“It’s fine.” He insists sincerely, finishing the last of his beer. “I’m not gonna run around telling everyone, your secret’s safe with me. Cross my heart.”

And then he actually does draw a cross over his heart, which makes it almost impossible for me to keep from smiling. Maybe if I wasn’t so bogged down with doubt, I’d feel better about everything. But the fact still remains that I have no idea how he feels about me. With every passing minute, I like him more and more, and yet I become more and more unsure of what this is to him. If I come right out and ask him, he’ll tell me honestly, he already promised to. But then he has the right to ask me how I feel about him, too.

What if our answers don’t match up?

“Excuse me?”

We both look up at the timid girl standing by our table. She’s clearly not a waitress, and judging by the blush on her face and the camera in her hands, she’s about to ask for a picture. We both smile at her reassuringly, and I go back to picking at my food because I’m assuming that she’s here for the show tonight and is therefore interested in Tommy, not me.

“C-could I get a picture with you, please?”

“Taylor?”

When I hear Tommy say my name, I’m expecting him to ask me to take said picture for them. But it turns out that he’s the one taking the camera from her, and her sights are set on me, not him.

“Oh, uh… sure. Sorry.” I quickly wipe my mouth on my napkin, hoping that all traces of food and ketchup are absent as I slide out of the booth and stand beside her.

“Okay, ready?” He asks, his eyes focused on the camera screen while his fingertip hovers over the button to take the picture. “Say ‘MMMBop’!”

I have to resist the urge to glare at him so that I won’t ruin the picture, and luckily the sound of the girl beside me giddily following his directions is amusing enough that it makes me smile anyway. But seriously, I’m gonna get him back for that, it will not go unpunished.

“Thank you so much!” She gushes, taking her camera back from him and checking the picture excitedly. “I just wanted to say that I saw your show in Tulsa in July and it was _amazing_. And I _love_ the new album, I think it’s your best ever, it’s _so_ good!”

“Thank you, I really appreciate that.” I smile, taking my seat opposite Tommy again and trying to ignore the smug smirk on his lips. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the new music.”

“I’m really sorry I interrupted your meal, I just _had_ to come over and say hi.”

“No problem, it was great to meet you.”

I watch as she practically curtsies and then hurries back over to another table, where it looks like her family is waiting for her. And when I turn back to Tommy, I can tell that he’s waiting to tease me mercilessly. Right on cue, he begins fanning himself with one hand while he covers his heart with the other and pretends to swoon.

“Fuck you.” I laugh softly, picking up a fry and throwing it at him.

We order another beer each and spend the next hour or so talking about much less personal subjects than sexual orientation and how far we’ve been with guys, but the conversation we just had is still never far from my mind. I feel as though I’m holding back when I talk to him now, or at least attempting to. I don’t want to get my hopes up, I don’t want to let myself believe that our flirting means anything significant to him.

But when we part ways so that he can head backstage to get ready, and he hands me a ticket and tells me to enjoy the show, something about the look he gives me is _so_ deliberate.

So suggestive.

It makes me feel like I’m the only one he’s going to be performing for when he’s up on that stage tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

  


 

 

Watching him perform was like watching porn.

There, I said it.

I know better than to think that every time our eyes met he was actually looking at me. I’ve been on stage, I can tell you from personal experience that it’s nearly impossible to really make eye contact with anyone more than a few rows back. But even though logically I _knew_ that, it didn’t stop every hair on the back of my neck from standing on end each time it seemed as though he was looking _right_ at me.

Every flip of his hair, every sway of his hips, every smoldering stare he directed at the audience felt like it was for my benefit. That probably sounds ego-centric, and I’m sure it’s just wishful thinking on my part, but whether he did it intentionally or not, it was a _huge_ turn on. Watching him kiss Adam, even though it was barely a peck on the lips compared to the kiss they shared at the last show I attended, made the desire I already had to kiss him even stronger. And by the time the show was over, I didn’t know how I was supposed to keep myself from walking right up to him and kissing him as soon as I saw him again.

Before we parted ways so that he could go and get changed and have his makeup done, he told me that he’d make sure to have my name put on a guest list for security so that I can get backstage. But I know that doesn’t always work out as planned, whether it’s due to miscommunication or security guards on a power trip, so I’m a little apprehensive as I approach one of the venue staff at the side of the stage. I have to wait while a few girls make an embarrassingly futile attempt to flirt their way onto the guest list, but after he finally convinces them to give up and leave, he turns his attention to me.

“Hi, I’m supposed to be on the list.”

“Name?”

“Taylor Hanson.” I tell him hopefully, nibbling my lower lip as his finger trails down the piece of paper in his hand.

“Yup, here you are.” He seems almost disappointed as he moves aside and nods for me to go through the doors behind him. “Someone back there can point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks.”

I push the doors open and step into a badly lit corridor, a lot like the ones I’m used to from the hundreds of venues I’ve played at. None of it feels unusual to me, which is good because the last thing I need is something else to be intimidated by and nervous about. After stopping one of the people wandering by with a pass hanging around their neck, I get pointed in the direction of the dressing rooms. The one the band is using is bustling with activity when I come to a stop outside the half-open door, and I don’t even need to knock on it before Monte turns around and sees me standing outside.

“Hey, come on in.” He greets me welcomingly, pulling the door all the way open as everyone else in the room looks over at me. “You didn’t happen to see Adam out there, did you?”

“No, sorry.”

“No problem, I’ll track him down.” With a weary smile, he turns to the rest of the guys, who are all in various stages of changing their clothes. Unfortunately for me, Tommy’s pretty much done already. “See ya out on the bus.”

“Hold up.” One of the dancers tells him, grabbing his bag off of the couch at the back of the room. “I’m coming with.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Asks Longineu, pulling my gaze away from Tommy’s reflection in mirror.

“Oh, uh… yeah, it was great. You guys really know how to put on a show.”

“Thanks, man. Glad you made it down.” He smiles at me, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder to get his attention. “I’m out, dude. I _need_ my bunk.”

“Careful, grandpa, your age is showing.”

“Fuck you.” He chuckles softly, giving him a playful shove in retaliation. “All you have to do is stand there all night and look pretty. Some of us have to exert ourselves for our art.”

Tommy laughs as he meets Longineu’s eyes in the mirror and continues taking his makeup off.  “Whatever, dude. You have no idea how much effort it takes to look this good, okay?”

“My heart _bleeds_ for you.”

Once Longineu has pulled his jacket on and left the dressing room, Tommy and I are finally alone together. And all I can think about it pushing him up against that dressing table he’s leaning on, and-

“So you had a good time?” He asks, pulling me out of my perverted daydreams and forcing me to remember how to speak.

“Yeah, I did. You were awesome. Again.” The compliment seems to make him as bashful as it did the first time I paid it three months ago, but he does his best to shrug it off. “I especially liked your solo. It’s… come a long way since June.”

When I make eye contact with his reflection, his smirk matches my own, and I’m confident that we both know which part of his solo I’m referring to. “Well, that was just a preview.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nods, turning to look at me instead of the mirror as I take a step closer to him. “Yeah. I’ve got plenty of other tricks up my sleeve...”

There’s no way that he’s not talking about sex right now. And I should know better than to let myself get any closer to him when he’s looking at me the way he currently is. The dressing room door is still open, anyone could walk in and see us. But _fuck_ , it’s not my fault! How am I supposed to keep my distance when he’s practically perched on the edge of the dressing table, holding my stare with those hypnotically dark eyes of his? It’s like I’m under his spell, he’s in control of my every move, and he’s luring me in with only a look.

“Look what I found!” Sutan suddenly pushes the dressing room door wide open and walks right in, holding out a tube of lip gloss to Tommy, who is thankfully much better at hiding his guilty expression than I am. “It’s my absolute _last_ clear, so don’t lose this one. At least not until we have chance to stop and restock.”

“I’m not making any promises, but I’ll try.” Tommy tells him gratefully, taking it from him and slipping it into his pocket. “You’re my hero.”

“Anything for you, gorgeous.” He turns to me, reaching into the large bag hanging from his shoulder and pulling out what looks suspiciously like an eye shadow compact. “Speaking of gorgeous…”

“Oh, no, I-”

I don’t even get the chance to finish my protest before he takes my hand and places the compact in my palm, closing my fingers around it forcefully. “Take it. Try it. _Trust_ me.”

What am I supposed to say to that? “Thanks.”

“It’s what I’m here for, to make the world a prettier place.” He glances over his shoulder at Tommy and smiles conspiratorially. “I’m gonna go warm up the bunk. Are you gonna keep me waiting all night?”

“I’ll be right there.” Laughs Tommy, smacking Sutan playfully on the ass as he leaves the room. I’m sure he must be able to see the surprised expression on my face when he looks at me once we’re alone again. But it’s not there for the reasons he assumes. “It’s an inside joke, we don’t _actually_ share a bunk.”

“No, it’s not that…” He frowns, waiting for me to explain the sudden change in my mood. “I just… I didn’t realize you were leaving already.”

“Oh, well… we have a show tomorrow night, and it’s like a nine hour drive, so we have to hit the road pretty much _now_.” I understand that, I’ve been in the same situation countless times before, but that doesn’t make this suck any less. “I guess I should’ve mentioned it before, sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m really glad you came down, though. It was great seeing you again.”

It was great to see him, too. But I’m not ready to be _done_ seeing him yet. “Yeah… well, if you’re ever in Oklahoma again…”

“And if you’re ever in L.A.…”

“That’s probably a hell of a lot more likely.” I try to smile, but I’m pretty sure I fail because I’m just feeling too damn miserable about the fact that we’re saying goodbye. “I hope you have a good show tomorrow night.”

“Thanks. Good luck with the tour and everything.”

“You, too.”

He picks his bag up off of the floor by the dressing table, and I struggle to come up with something appropriate to say. It feels wrong to just say “see ya” and let him walk out of this room, but I don’t know what else to do. The idea of hugging him seems kind of awkward, and I don’t know if he wants me to kiss him. He hasn’t made any move to kiss me since I got here today, and the last time we kissed it was after a few drinks. For all I know, he wouldn’t have done it otherwise, he even told me today that the only times he’s ever kissed guys in the past were while he was drunk.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” He smiles somewhat sadly, taking a step backwards. “There’s no time limit on texting.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He takes another step back, away from me, before turning towards the door.

This is it.

If I just stand here, he’s going to walk away and I’m not going to see him again for who knows how long.

“Tommy…”

He hasn’t even finished turning to face me again before I’ve crossed the room and closed the distance between us. And he doesn’t have chance to ask me what I wanted to say to him before I’m kissing him. Any and all doubts I had about him wanting this evaporate the second he starts kissing me back hungrily, and I quickly reach out to push the door behind him shut. His back hits it with a rough thud as he pulls me up against him demandingly, but if it hurt he barely seems to notice or care, his lips never leave mine.

I honestly don’t know what I’m doing. I didn’t plan this, I have no idea where it’ll lead. All I know is that his hands are burning hot as they cradle my jaw, his kisses are making me dizzy, and he tastes like spearmint gum and the beer he was drinking on stage. And I want more. I want more of the soft moans he’s breathing against my mouth, I want more of his fingernails raking through my hair, I want more of his hips rocking against my thigh.

I want to touch him.

He gasps when I impatiently tug down the zipper of his jeans and slip my hand inside, but he doesn’t stop me. If anything, he pulls me nearer, his teeth biting teasingly at my bottom lip as he writhes eagerly against my palm. His pants are tight enough and the opening of his fly is small enough that I can barely move my hand, but the limited motion I can make as I stroke him through the fabric of his underwear is enough to leave him too breathless to kiss me back any longer.

My mouth travels along his jawline, seeking out the racing pulse point of his neck, and he groans in appreciation as I suck on it keenly. His skin is salty with sweat from the show, the taste of it is addicting. _Everything_ about him right now is addicting, from the way he tastes to the way he sounds, gasping against my ear needily. I can feel him getting more and more turned on by the second, and it’s driving me crazy.

So crazy that the next thing I know, I’m on my knees and I’m unfastening the button on his pants so that I can tug them down. My eyes are locked with his as my fingers curl around the waistband of his briefs and pull them down, and even though it’s obvious that he can’t believe this is happening, it’s just as clear that he wants it to. His swollen lips are parted in awe, his brown eyes blazing with lust.

Every time I think I want him as much as I possibly can, I find some way to want him even more.

His head falls back against the door as I run my tongue up the length of his erection, and he groans an unsteady “fuck” into the otherwise silent dressing room. I should probably be worried about so many things right now; I should care that this is insane, I should care that the door isn’t locked, I should care that I’ve _never_ been this intimate with someone I hardly know before. But I don’t. My only concern is making him feel better than he already does. All I care about is the way he’s moaning my name as he bucks against my mouth and grasps helplessly at fistfuls of my hair.

At the risk of sounding conceited, this is something I know I’m _damn_ good at.  As with a lot of things in my life, I’ve been doing it for a lot longer than most people my age can probably claim. Not necessarily something to be proud of, but it’s still a fact, I can’t change it. All I can do now is make the most of this ‘skill’ that I’ve been honing for the past decade. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

I can feel his legs shaking faintly the faster my mouth moves, and his hand falls to my shoulder in search of some kind of support as he breathlessly mutters expletive after expletive. It’s quite possibly the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, and the more he does it, the more I want to _make_ him do it.

“Oh, _fuck_! Taylor…” I’ve never loved the sound of my own name as much as I do at this very moment. My fingers close around him, moving in time with my lips as his breathing becomes more and more out of control. “I-I’m gonna cum.”

I can’t help moaning at his words, and apparently the sensation it causes is all it takes to push him over the edge. I pin his hips to the door with my hands, keeping him steady as he bites back a cry of pleasure and comes in my mouth so intensely that I almost can’t hold him still. He has to use the door handle to stay on his feet as I avidly lick and suck him clean, feeling more satisfied than I probably would have if I’d just gotten off myself.

After readjusting his underwear and jeans, I slowly get to my feet again. The hand that he still had tangled in my hair trails languidly down my chest and settles at my waist, clutching at my t-shirt with what little strength he still has. I’m undeniably worried about how he’s going to react to this once he’s capable of thinking clearly again, and all I can do as I tenderly kiss my way up the side of his neck is hope that he doesn’t regret it.

I know _I_ don’t, no matter how unplanned and impulsive it was.

“That was one hell of a going away present.” He jokes once his breathing has calmed down enough for him to speak.

Damn. I’d almost forgotten that he was in the process of leaving when I lost my mind and mauled him.

“Don’t go.” The words escape me before I can stop them, but luckily he seems to find them more amusing than absurd.

“I _have_ to.” He sighs and leans into me, kissing me lazily. “I’m the only bass player in the band. Not to sound self-important or anything, but I’m kinda necessary.”

“Fine, then _I’ll_ take you.”

He laughs, placing his hands against my chest and pushing me back just enough to look me in the eyes. “Didn’t you hear me when I said it was a _nine_ hour drive?”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Yes, and I don’t care.” I repeat, returning my lips to the skin of his neck and kissing him as insistently as I can. Because apparently I’m hoping that giving him a hickey will change his mind. “Please?”

“I _can’t_ let you drive me all the way to Memphis.” He practically whines, making it clear that he wishes it wasn’t as ridiculous a suggestion as we both know it is. “It’s too far, and you’ve been awake all day… you’ll fall asleep at the wheel!”

I know he’s right. I barely slept last night because I was so wired, so nervous and excited about what might happen today. I’ve been awake for seventeen hours on less than five hours of sleep, so driving to another state right now would probably be a bad idea. But I still can’t think of a _worse_ idea than letting him get on that tour bus. All I want is a few more hours with him, how can that be too much to ask for?

“You could fly.” I blurt out unthinkingly, but the more I consider the idea, the better it sounds. “It’s less than two hours from Oklahoma City to Memphis, you could fly out first thing in the morning and you’d still beat them there. They could pick you up on their way to the venue.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Instead of telling him that I am, I simply press my lips to his, kissing him passionately so that maybe he’ll be more tempted to do what he wants to do, rather than what common sense is telling him he should do. “Do you know how hard you’re making this?”

“ _Again_?” I smirk against his lips, my skin tingling with exhilaration at the sound of his soft giggling.

“Even if I wanted to say yes, I can’t afford a last minute flight-”

“I can.”

“Okay, first of all, no one likes a show off. And second of all, _no_. No way in _hell_ can I let you buy me a fucking plane ticket!”

“Don’t look at it like that!” I plead in my most persuasive tone, nudging gently at his nose with the tip of mine. “Look at it as choosing to spend the rest of the night in an airport hotel room with me, instead of in a tour bus bunk alone…”

He narrows his eyes at me in disapproval of my dirty tactics, but he can’t seem to keep his smile under control. “That’s _so_ not fucking fair.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Then you must be _really_ desperate.”

As his phone begins ringing, I leave one last flirtatious peck on his lips before giving him just enough room to reach into his pocket and answer it. “Only one way to find out.”

He lifts the phone to his ear, his eyes still locked with mine. “Hey…” I can vaguely hear the voice on the other end of the line asking him where he is while I lean in and begin kissing his neck again, causing his breath to catch in his throat. “I-I’m still in the dressing room.”

“Well get your booty on the bus, we almost left without you!” The voice (which I’m pretty sure belongs to Adam) laughs softly. “I swear, one of these days we’re gonna set up for sound check and realize we left you in another state.”

“Yeah… about that.” He practically hums when I nip at his earlobe, but as soon as he realizes what he’s done, he clears his throat loudly to cover it up. “I was thinking that I’d just kinda meet you in Memphis.”

“Uh… you do know we have a show tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, I know, and I’ll be there, I swear.”

“How? It’s like five hundred miles away!” Adam points out incredulously. “If you don’t leave pretty damn soon, you won’t get there in time.”

“I’m gonna get a flight out in the morning. I’ll probably be in Memphis before you guys even get there, so you can just like pick me up on your way through to Tunica.”

There’s a pause. A very long pause. It’s so long that even my kisses come to a halt in apprehension, and I can feel Tommy becoming tenser the longer it continues. “Tommy-”

“ _Don’t_ say anything.” He stops him knowingly, his tone somehow both defeated _and_ defiant. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I _really_ don’t think you do.”

“Look, everything’s gonna be fine. And I’ll be there for the show tomorrow night, no matter what. I wouldn’t let you down. Trust me, okay?”

After another moment of silence, though not as long as the previous one, Adam sighs grudgingly. “You know I do.”

“Have a safe trip. I’ll text you my flight info as soon as I have it.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t do anything I _would_ do!”

“In other words, don’t do _anything_?” Tommy replies playfully as he rolls his eyes. “Stop worrying and get some sleep.”

“I’ll try. G’night.”

“Night.” He turns his phone off and puts it back into the pocket of his jeans before meeting my eyes again and offering me an uncertain smile. “So… now what do we do?”


	7. Chapter 7

  


 

 

_Now what do we do?_

As soon as he posed the question, something changed. I can’t put my finger on exactly what it was, but the mood between us suddenly became more serious. More awkward. I don’t know what was going on inside his head, but inside mine it was chaos. There were so many thoughts flying around, so many doubts and questions shouting at me, competing for attention. My conscience wanted to know what the fuck I was doing. It had been wanting to know since the moment I’d texted him back in New York and told him I’d come down for the show, but it had been getting louder and more impatient with me all day. And after what I’d just done, it was livid and demanding that I feel completely and utterly ashamed of myself.

And I do.

But not for the reasons I probably should. I’m not ashamed of what I did because I’m married, or because I’m a father, or because it was thoughtless and rash. I’m not worried that my family or my friends or even my fans will judge me if they ever find out about it. I’m ashamed because I think that _he_ is judging me for it.

He’s being unnervingly quiet. Almost from the moment his phone call with Adam ended, his behavior shifted. He barely said anything to me as I booked his flight to Memphis for the next morning, he merely nodded to confirm that the times sounded okay to him, but he seemed incredibly uncomfortable with the whole thing. He _seems_ incredibly uncomfortable with me.

We’ve been driving for a little over fifteen minutes now, and he hasn’t said a word. To be fair, neither have I, but that’s only because his silence is making me second guess everything I’ve come up with to say! But maybe he’s having the same problem. Maybe he wants to talk, but this loaded silence has gone on for so long now that it’s impossible to know how to break it without it feeling embarrassingly forced.

Though why I’m concerned about saying something embarrassing when I just dropped to my knees in a casino dressing room is beyond me.

“I don’t do that.”

His eyes dart from the dark road ahead of us to my face, obviously surprised to hear my voice shatter the quiet in the car. “Do what?”

“What I did back there. I… I don’t do that. I mean, I _do_ do that, I just haven’t ever done it with someone I hardly know.” He nods again but doesn’t say anything, and it makes me feel like I’ve done a crap job of explaining myself, because obviously it didn’t make him feel any better. “I just want you to know that I don’t go around doing this all the time.”

“I never thought that you did.”

“Good, because I’m _totally_ not like that. I don’t go to bars alone and end up kissing guys I just met, I’ve _never_ done that before. And I’ve definitely never done what I just did in that dressing room with anyone I hadn’t known for _years_.” I hear him chuckle softly, and even though I should be relieved to know that he’s finding this amusing, it just makes me feel more defensive. “No, I’m serious!”

“I know.”

“I _don’t_ act like this. I don’t cheat on my wife. I mean… I have, but it was only with one person. Not that it makes it any better, but I was in love with him, and…” Words fail me as what I’ve just said begins to really sink in.

 _Was_.

I’ve never talked about my feelings for Zac in the past tense before. _Ever._ I can’t decide what I think of it. Especially because I don’t feel the need to correct myself. I don’t want to change it from “was in love” to “am in love”, because I’m pretty sure I used the appropriate tense the first time around. Of course I still love him, he’s my brother and he’s been my best friend my entire life. But I honestly don’t think I can say that I’m _in_ love with him anymore. I have no idea when my feelings changed, or why, but they did. Being in love with him had just been such a constant for me. It was something I never even had to think twice about because it had been there for so long, I just assumed it always would be.

Until now…

“You don’t have to justify anything to me.” He says finally, returning his attention to the highway. “I don’t blame you or anything, that’d be totally hypocritical considering we were both there and neither of us stopped it.”

“Do you wish one of us had?” I ask nervously, paying way too much attention to the little I can see of his expression from studying his profile and way too little attention to the road.

It takes him so long to answer the question that I legitimately feel like I’m going to throw up. “No.”

“No?”

He shrugs, as though he’s not sure what else to say if that answer doesn’t satisfy me. “No. Do you?”

“No. But…”

“But?”

“I don’t know… I’ve just been getting this vibe from you ever since it happened.”

“Sorry. I guess I was like… processing or something.” His smile is soft, apologetic, and for the first time in almost an hour, I feel _so_ much better. “Maybe you haven’t done anything like that before, but at least when you have done it it’s been with a guy. That was kind of a first for me.”

I can’t believe I never even thought of it like that. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Like I said, I don’t regret doing it or anything. It’s just still kinda like… surreal. I know it happened, but every few seconds I’m still like ‘did that just happen?’” He laughs a little, shaking his head before leaning it back against the headrest and sighing wearily. “I’m sorry if I made you think I was like freaked out or anything. I’m not, I’m just…”

“Processing.”

“Yeah.”

Fair enough. “Well, unless you prefer to process in silence, do you wanna put some music on?”

“Yeah, go for it.” He agrees enthusiastically as I lean forward to turn the car stereo on. “Having music on always beats the alternative. Unless it’s Justin Bieber.”

“You mean you don’t have Bieber Fever?” I snort in amusement, and he adamantly shakes his head.

“I _don’t_ have Bieber Fever, as difficult as that may be to believe. I have the opposite. I have like… Bieber Frostbite or something.”

“Sounds painful.”

“It is! I almost lost my ears to it the last time we had to play the same event as him.”

His tone is so serious and so peeved that it makes me laugh even harder than I would have if he’d just said it without the straight face. And my laughter makes him smile, which makes the weight on my chest give way a little more. I know he’s still “processing”, but at least we’re back to joking with each other, and that’s a vast improvement over how things were going before.

Unfortunately, the search for something worth listening to on the radio fails miserably. There’s a bunch of country music, a couple of classical stations, some top forty shows, and one or two late night, call-in radio talk shows that sound like they might put us both to sleep inside of ten minutes. I’m always talking about how radio has gone to shit, but it’s been so long since I actually attempted to listen to it that I didn’t realize just how bad it’s gotten. There are literally millions of amazing songs in the world, a wealth of talent from over fifty years of popular music, and yet most radio shows seem content playing the same twenty songs on a loop and relegating any songs released earlier than last year to a “retro” hour that they play once a day when hardly anyone is actually listening!

With a groan of disgust, I turn the volume down and glance over my shoulder at the back seat to see where I dumped my bags. “I’m pretty sure my laptop bag is behind my seat. Do you think you can reach it?”

“Maybe…”

He twists around a little in his seat and stretches his left arm as far back as he can, but still comes up empty handed. But instead of just giving up, he unbuckles his seat belt and half _climbs_ into the back seat. It would’ve been funny if I hadn’t just found myself face-to-ass when I turned my head to see what he was doing. After a few seconds of rooting around, he drops back down into his seat with my bag in his hands and a proud grin on his face.

“No applause?”

“I would, but I’m driving.” I nod to my hands solemnly, shifting them to the ten and two position on the steering wheel for good measure. “There’s an iPhone FM transmitter is in the front right pocket.”

“You take your FM transmitter with you on the road?”

“I take pretty much _everything_ iPhone related I own _everywhere_.” I admit, although I don’t know why I’m embarrassed by the fact. If I wasn’t so freakishly obsessive about my iPhone accessories, we’d be listening to Miley Cyrus or… Lil Someone featuring Something-land butchering (or “sampling”, if that’s what you wanna call it) a classic rock song right now. “If you just plug it into your iPhone and tune the radio to whatever free station it comes up with, it should work.”

“Why _my_ iPhone?”

“Because…” I give an indifferent shrug, but can’t come up with an actual reason. “I don’t know. I just… figured you’d wanna listen to music you actually like.”

“But it’s your car-”

“No, it’s a rental.”

He sighs at my stubbornness, and I can’t help but smirk. I make excellent points. “Whatever, you’re driving and everyone _knows_ that the driver gets to pick the music.”

“Fine. I pick whatever music is on your iPhone.”

“Why can’t we listen to _your_ iPhone?” He all but whines at me, which just makes me want to resist even more. “Do you like have something really embarrassing on there that you don’t want me to know about? Like the High School Music soundtrack? Or the Jonas Brothers?”

“No!” I laugh softly, suddenly wondering if I actually do have any music on there that I’d be embarrassed for him to know about. “I just know that you don’t have the same taste in music as me.”

“So… you think we have completely different tastes in music, but you still wanna listen to what’s on _my_ iPhone, even though you’ll probably hate it?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you ever confuse yourself so much that you get like a migraine or something? ‘Cause I could see how that might happen to you a lot.”

“Just shut up and plug your iPhone in!” I tease him, but my giggling is quickly cut short by shock when he reaches over and shoves his hand into the front pocket of my jeans. “Hey!”

He smirks devilishly while his fingers grope around in search of my iPhone (among other things), which I’m pretty sure he touches about five times before he finally grabs it and tugs it out. I can hear him chuckling as he plugs it into the transmitter and searches for a free station to tune the radio too, but I know that I’m so turned on that if I look at him now, I’m going to be distracted enough that I run the car off the road.

“Wow…”

“What?” I ask uncertainly, fighting the strong instinct I have to see what he’s doing.

“I’m just kinda amazed by some of the stuff you have on here.” He replies after a moment, and unless I’m mistaken, he’s pleasantly surprised. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Guns N’ Roses fan, or Jimi Hendrix… or Jim Morrison… Led Zepplin… Nick Drake… Radiohead?”

“I _love_ Radiohead.”

“Red Hot Chili Peppers… The Rolling Stones-”

“Classic.”

“You even have some Depeche Mode!”

“Yeah, well, they came highly recommended by this drunk guy I met in a bar once.”

He snickers quietly, still scrolling slowly through my music library. “I gotta admit, you have pretty good taste.”

I’m not sure whether I should be proud or offended by that statement. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

“Sorry, I guess I just didn’t think you’d be into Chuck Berry or The Who. I imagined you listening to like… Coldplay and Maroon 5.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with those bands!” I chuckle, shooting him a playfully chastising scowl. “They’re on there, too.”

“I know, I saw. Coldplay is parked right between The Clash and Elvis Costello, which I also totally didn’t expect by the way. And I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with Coldplay, I just meant that I expected you to be into way more current music than stuff from like… fifty years ago, not the other way around.”

“Well, I grew up on a lot of fifties and sixties music, so I’ve always loved artists like Aretha and Little Richard. Music has pretty much been my life since I was like… six, so I’ve listened to _a lot_ of different stuff over the years. I couldn’t get enough of it, I still can’t.”

“I know the feeling.” He smiles nostalgically as he finally selects a song from my iPhone, and ‘Just Like Heaven’ by The Cure begins to play. “I grew up listening to my parent’s records and stuff. My tastes changed the older I got, but no matter what other music I get into, I still love all the stuff from when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of unique that way. No other music for the rest of your life sticks with you like the first music you ever listen to and love. It’s like it’s part of you, it’s your history, whether it’s anything like what you’re into now or not.”

“Exactly.”

We both seem to relax a little more, allowing the comfort brought about by the music and by finding more common ground to settle over us as we drive. It’s not rare to find that another musician feels the same way about music as you do, or fell in love with music the same way you did, even if you’re not fans of the same genres. But I still like knowing that he and I have that link. We’re so different in a lot of very obvious ways, I never would have thought I’d find myself sitting here beside him, I wouldn’t have thought we’d have anything much to talk about. But appearances can be deceiving, and I’m discovering more and more that we click on so many levels that I couldn’t have ever anticipated.

“You would’ve gotten along well with my dad.” He suddenly muses aloud, and when I turn to look at him, I find that he’s still studying the music selection. “I think he has most of the albums on here, minus some of the more recent stuff.”

“So you’re saying I have a dad’s taste in music?” I tease lightly, and his smile widens as he glances up at me and nods.

“A _cool_ dad, though. There’s an important difference.”

“Good to know.” With another soft chuckle, he returns his attention to the screen of my phone, and as I look over at him again, I feel the urge to express something that I thought I’d long since missed the opportunity to say to him. “I’m really sorry, by the way.”

“About what?”

“About your dad.”

His bemused smile slowly fades into one of obvious melancholy, and I instantly regret opening my stupid mouth and saying anything. I thought that, since he was the one to bring his father up, it would be okay to offer my condolences, that it wouldn’t seem totally out of nowhere and it wouldn’t be inappropriate.

But maybe I was wrong.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s okay.” He quickly assures me, forcing a smile that I can tell is meant to make me feel better, but I just feel worse that he’s at all worried about easing my guilt right now. “How did you know?”

“Oh… uh…” This isn’t embarrassing or anything. “I kinda… read about it online last month. I might have been googling you at the time, I don’t remember…”

He exhales a short breath of genuine laughter, which is an immense relief to hear. “Good. Now I don’t feel so weird about googling you.”

“I bet you learned more about me then I did about you. You’re a man of relative mystery.”

“I know. I like to keep it that way, it’s all part of my charm.” He explains with a wink that’s so alluring I have trouble coming up with anything to say in reply. My words get stuck in my throat, and all I can do is sit here and feel as though a heat lamp has just been pointed directly at me. “So exactly what did you find out about me?”

“Honestly? Not a whole lot. Just your birthday, and where you grew up, and that you like wearing makeup and getting your hair done.” I have to bite back a laugh as he cracks up over the wording of that piece of information. It really does make him sound like a girl, and he’s well aware of that fact as he bats his eyelashes at me and primps his hair. “And this one site listed some of your favorite music and TV shows and movies, and the names of a few of your old bands.”

“That’s pretty impressive. _I_ don’t even know like half of those things.”

“You should google yourself sometime.”

“Nah. It’s _much_ more satisfying when other people google me.” He replies pointedly, and I don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s probably wearing an insanely flirtatious smirk on his lips.

“So what did you find out about me?” I ask somewhat apprehensively, knowing that there’s thirteen plus years of total crap about me floating around on the internet. There’s probably more false information than true, but unfortunately the rumors are way more interesting and get way more attention than the facts. “How many times have I been to rehab now? I’ve lost count.”

“I actually didn’t see anything about your stints in rehab. But one of the first things I _did_ see was a page titled ‘Is Taylor Hanson Gay?’”

“Survey says?”

“Hmm… inconclusive. The popular opinion is that you’re at least bi.”

This isn’t exactly news to me, so I have no problem responding with an unconcerned “Interesting.”

“Not nearly as interesting as what they said about you and Alex Greenwald.” He snickers, but I’m not finding this quite as amusing anymore. In fact, it’s all getting a little too serious for me. “Apparently you guys were like a couple or something for a while before you got married.”

I should say something. Even just “huh” or “oh” or _something_. Because I know that the longer I go without saying anything, the more he’s going to read into my silence. But I never expected this topic to come up, at least not the specific rumors about Alex. I figured he’d probably see some questions about my sexuality, because they’ve been plaguing me since I was fourteen years old, but I wasn’t prepared to hear him actually _name_ one of the only two guys I’ve ever slept with.

“I actually googled your name and his together, and it came up with some pretty crazy stuff.” I bet it did. “Like how your old record company forced you to dump him and get your wife pregnant so that people wouldn’t suspect you were gay anymore. I was kinda shocked. I mean, I know record labels have a say in production and stuff, but I had no idea that they were involved in like… _re_ production.”

I know he’s trying to joke with me, but I’m still finding it too difficult to laugh, even if that part of the rumor _was_ entirely ludicrous and false.

“Actually… I stopped sleeping with him _because_ I got my wife pregnant.” He laughs, as though he thinks this is all part of the hilariously ridiculous conversation we’re having. But it’s not. It’s part of my hilariously ridiculous life. “My record label had nothing to do with it. Unless you count the fact that they were driving me so fucking crazy at the time that I made a bunch of shitty decisions that pretty much ended up defining the rest of my life.”

His laughter has died down to nothing now, I think he’s starting to realize that this isn’t just a stupid rumor, and I’m not joking anymore.  I can feel him watching me, waiting for me to tell him that I was just kidding so that we can laugh the whole thing off and sympathize with each other over how people manage to make up relationship rumors from the briefest of glances between two people.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” He finally asks, but all I can manage for an answer is a slow nod. “So like… Alex was the rebound guy you were talking about before?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…”

“We were friends at first, but then after I broke up with my wife, he and I started hanging out more and more.” I explain quitely, keeping my eyes trained on the road ahead. “We started fooling around pretty soon after that… and then we started sleeping together. It only happened a few times, and it didn’t really mean anything, it wasn’t like we were a couple. I just liked being around him, it felt like he was the only person in my life back then who didn’t expect anything from me. But then…” I sigh wearily, exhausted and miserable from merely recalling the details of everything that happened back then. “Natalie called me and told me that she needed to see me, she said it was an emergency, she begged me. So I flew out to Atlanta… and that was when she told me she was pregnant. Apparently that ‘one last time’ before we broke up was one too many.”

“So you married her?” He eventually asks, though he already knows the answer.

“I didn’t really have a choice. Between her family’s expectations and mine, and what would have happened to the band if the media had painted me as some spoiled rock star that knocked up a barely legal fan and then refused to marry her…” My jaw clenches with resentment, and I try to take a breath and stop myself from getting any angrier than I already am. “It wasn’t like I didn’t care about her, I _do_ love her. I couldn’t ask for a better wife, she’s supportive and she never complains about me touring or traveling. She deals with this whole situation better than anyone else probably would…”

“But?” He asks gently, knowingly.

“It’s not who I am…” I feel guilty even thinking it, but I’d be a liar if I denied it. “I feel like the day I married her, I gave up on ever really being myself again. I gave up on ever being with someone I was honestly in love with. You’re not supposed to think that on your wedding day. You’re not supposed to feel as though you’re passing up any chance at real happiness.”

He doesn’t reply. I don’t think he really knows what to say. This probably isn’t what he thought he was getting into when he kissed me that night three months ago. I doubt I’m the person he thought I was, and I’m pretty sure that the more he learns about me, the more he wishes he’d never met me. And how can I blame him? He’s just found out that I got my wife pregnant right before I dumped her, had a meaningless affair with another well known male musician, then dumped him and married her because I felt I had no choice. And I’ve been living a lie ever since. He doesn’t even know about my relationship with Zac, and if he did he’d probably demand that I stop the car right here in the middle of nowhere and let him get out so he can get as far away from me as possible.

I never meant to become this person. Ten years ago I never imagined that this would be my life. And I know it’s my own fault; I know I was in control of the choices I made back then, and the choices I’ve made since.

But no matter how many regrets I have, there are four that I could _never_ have.

“I _love_ my kids.” I tell him adamantly, my fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than they already were, as though they’re trying to cling to the one thing that makes my sham of a life worth living. “I honestly do.”

“I know.”

I blink back the tears that immediately blur my vision when I feel his hand settle lightly on my leg. Ten minutes ago, when we were teasing and flirting, this touch would have meant something completely different than it does now. But at this moment, I know that his only intention is to offer me some small form of comfort.

I don’t know what it is about him that causes me to be so honest, to admit to things I’ve never confided in anyone about, especially not someone I’ve known for such a short time. And every time I tell him something else about myself that I’ve been ashamed of for years, I expect him to want to run away from me.

But _every_ time, he comes a little closer. 


	8. Chapter 8

  


 

 

Except for the songs playing on my iPhone, and the sound of the world rushing by outside, the remainder of the drive to Oklahoma City passes in silence. At first it’s because neither of us have anything more to say. There’s no good follow-up conversation to my confession about being trapped in a marriage to a woman I’ve never been in love with, so we just… don’t speak. But the quiet isn’t uncomfortable the way it was before when we were back at the venue. I don’t feel as though he thinks badly of me, his consoling hand on my thigh eliminates any concerns I have about that.

Eventually, though, I feel his fingers begin to slip gradually down the outside of my leg, and when I glance over at him, I find that he’s fallen asleep. Honestly, all I really want to do at this very moment is pull off of the interstate and find somewhere to park so that I can look at him. I realize how incredibly creepy that probably sounds, but I refuse to believe that anyone else in my position would feel any differently.

He’s beautiful.

He’s _always_ beautiful, but I’ve never seen him like this before. His head is resting against the seat, his face turned towards me, and his expression is completely relaxed. Peaceful. My eyes are almost immediately drawn to his mouth, enthralled by the way his lower lip is ever so slightly parted from his top lip. I have to keep glancing back and forth between him and the highway to make sure I haven’t been staring so long that I’ve drifted into another lane. Which is exactly why I want to pull over; I don’t _want_ to have to worry about the road. I just want to look at him and be thankful that I somehow ended up here with him tonight.

It’s just after two am when I pull the car into the parking lot of the airport La Quinta Inn, and I’m so exhausted that the idea of falling asleep right here is incredibly tempting. But I told Tommy that we’d spend the night in a hotel room, not the front seat of a rental car. I don’t want him to wake up at four o’clock in the morning with a sore neck and a back ache just because I was too lazy to move.

I almost don’t want to disturb him, though. He’s completely out of it, he doesn’t even notice when the car comes to a complete stop for the first time in two hours and I shut the engine off. When I reach out and lightly brush the hair away from his eyes, he stirs faintly, but only to sigh and nuzzle the headrest as though it’s someone’s shoulder he’s leaning on and not a car seat.

He has _no_ right being _that_ cute.

“Tommy…” I place my hand on his arm and shake him gently, but he just turns his face away from me and tries to roll over towards the passenger side door. “Tommy, wake up.”

“ _You_ wake up.” He mutters childishly, attempting to shrug my hand off.

“Fine, I’ll just leave you out here, and I’ll go get myself a nice, big, comfy bed to sleep on…”

With a pitiful whine of protest, he yawns wearily and stretches out as much as he can in the limited amount of space he has, his body going limp as soon as he’s done. I can’t help but smirk at him as he sleepily opens his eyes and blinks at me a couple of times. I’ve never met someone who can pull off brain-meltingly sexy and heart-meltingly adorable so effortlessly and so equally. It doesn’t seem as though any one person should be able to be both, they’re so opposite, but he switches between them like it’s nothing.

“Good morning.”

“What time is it?” He murmurs tiredly, rubbing uncoordinatedly at his eye with his fist like a small child.

“Almost two fifteen.”

“Ew.”

“Pretty much.”

“What time do I need to be at the airport again?”

Just thinking about it is depressing, even though I know it’s not happening yet. “Your flight is at eight, so you probably need to be there around seven, I guess.”

“ _Ew_.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He takes a deep breath and pushes himself up in his seat, forcing himself to wake up a little more. “Don’t be.”

“If you’d just gone on the bus with the rest of the band, you could’ve gotten a full night of sleep instead of five hours.” I point out sadly, feeling guilty that I talked him into this craziness when I probably should have just let him leave.

“True.” After running his fingers through his hair and quickly checking his reflection in the visor mirror, he turns to me and smiles. “But who needs sleep?”

I’m so caught off guard by his sudden surge of energy that I don’t have chance to question where he’s going before he opens the passenger side door and starts to get out of the car. Quickly, I unbuckle my own seatbelt and climb out after him, hurrying to catch up to him as he walks towards the main entrance of the hotel.

“You get the bags,” He tells me, turning on his heel to look at me as he continues walking backwards. “I’ll get the room.”

“Why don’t _you_ get the bags and _I’ll_ get the room?”

“Because you already paid for my flight! No way am I letting you pay for this, too.”

“But-”

“Be a good boy and do as you’re told.”

There’s something so determined about his tone, not to mention something so alluring about his smile, that it stops me in my tracks. All I can do is watch him walk away and disappear into the building in front of me.

I still can’t decide if this whole thing was a bad idea or not. On the one hand, I got to spend some extra time with him, which I can’t say I’m at all disappointed about. And we got to talk a little more, which wasn’t in any way a waste of time. But on the other hand… it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, and it has the potential to make things more complicated and uncomfortable than they already have been. We have a handful of hours left together until he has to be at the airport, and we’re probably going to spend them sleeping. And that brings up the question of _where_ we’ll be sleeping. Are we sharing a bed or sleeping separately? Does it even really matter when we’re going to be unconscious anyway?

And now I’m right back to “this was a stupid idea.”

Five minutes later, I have all of the bags out of the car and I’m leaning against the hood waiting for him when he approaches me with a keycard in his hand. He still appears to be much more laidback about this whole thing than I am as he helps me with the bags, telling me that the room was only sixty bucks and that he’ll have to “find some other way to pay me back” for his plane ticket. I start to tell him that he doesn’t have to pay me back at all, because the plane ticket was in exchange for his company. But then I realize how much that makes it sound like I paid him to spend the night in a hotel room with me, so I decide to shut up.

When he unlocks the door to our room, I can’t decide whether or not I’m relieved or disappointed to see two queen beds instead of one king. It seems strange to be both, but it’s not like I’m unaware of the fact that I _am_ strange.

“Do you have a preference?” He gestures towards the beds as we walk into the room, and I shrug as I drop my bags on the floor by the mini-fridge.

I want to say “so now what?”, but that’s a stupid question. It’s two-thirty in the morning. Now we sleep, as evidenced by the way he just dropped down backwards onto the bed by the window.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” I ask somewhat awkwardly, but he merely shakes his head and yawns.

After grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste out of one of my bags, I disappear into the next room and close the door. Looking at my own reflection in the mirror is like confronting myself about everything I’ve done over the course of the past twenty-four hours. I’ve done a lot of crazy things this year, but I’ve done some of the most impulsive in the last day alone. I don’t regret any of it, but I can’t help wondering if I will somewhere down the line. I don’t want to ask where this is going or what this all means to him, I’m not that needy and pathetic. But it would still be nice to know what he’s thinking.

Maybe he’s not thinking, though.

Maybe he isn’t overanalyzing everything that happens between us, maybe he’s just enjoying it. And maybe I should try to do the same.

I quickly finish brushing my teeth, and by the time I’m done and I walk back out into the bedroom, he’s sitting on the end of his bed with his backpack in his hands. We wordlessly pass each other, and while he’s busy brushing his teeth, I try to decide how undressed I’m supposed to get. I usually don’t sleep in my jeans (I usually don’t sleep in anything at all), but I don’t know if it’d be too weird for him to come out of the bathroom and find me in my underwear. I figure that if I’m already in bed when he comes back in here, it won’t be so bad. I already sucked him off in a casino dressing room tonight and he’s still here, I doubt the sight of my bare chest is going to freak him out _too_ badly.

At least… I hope not.

Most of my body is safely concealed by the sheets when the bathroom door finally reopens, and the small smile that curls his lips when he sees me lying here doesn’t go unnoticed, despite his efforts to look away before I have a chance to see it.

To say that it’s a challenge not to get a little over-heated as I watch him undress is an understatement. I should probably look away, then I wouldn’t have to repeatedly tell myself to breathe. But I _can’t_ look away, I literally cannot turn my head. My brain commands my eyes to close, but they remain glued to him as he reaches down to the bottom of his hoodie and peels it over his head in one quick motion. As he does so, his t-shirt rides up a little in the back, exposing some of his skin, and my tongue instinctively darts out to moisten my dry lips. The next things to go are his shoes, which he carelessly toes off and leaves at the foot of the bed. And then it’s his t-shirt, and I can’t tell if he removes it at a slower pace because he’s shy about taking his shirt off in front of me, or because he knows I’m staring and he wants to torture me.

I’m so fascinated by the tattoos that I didn’t even know he had, and by studying his back muscles as they flex and contract fluidly with each move he makes, I forget that he’s not done taking his clothes off until I hear the sound of his zipper cut through the silence in the room. My breath hitches a little when he turns to face me and pushes his jeans down, and this time I use every shred of self-control I posses to turn my attention to the ceiling above me instead. Not because I don’t want to watch, but because I don’t want him to see me gawking at him like that.

It’s one thing to stare when he’s not looking, but when he’s fully aware of it, it’s even creepier!

I hear his mattress springs creak faintly as he gets into bed, and a second later he turns off the lamp on the nightstand and plunges the room into darkness. That should be the end of it, we’re in separate beds and the room is pitch black, there’s nothing left to see and nothing to do but sleep.

Unfortunately, my mind is now full of the image of him shirtless, and I can’t calm my racing heart down enough to even begin trying to get to sleep.

“Can I ask you something about the stuff you told me in the car?” He suddenly asks into the dark after we’ve been silent for a good ten minutes of so, and the sound of his voice surprises me so much that I actually gasp a little.

“Uh… sure.”

“You can totally tell me to fuck off if it’s too personal or anything…”

I laugh softly, rolling onto my side to face him, even though I can barely see him. “After everything I dumped on you today, I think I forfeited the right to label anything ‘too personal’.”

“Okay…” He takes a breath, and I hear him shift around in bed, probably to face me as well. “Your first kid wasn’t planned, right?”

“Right…” I reply uncertainly, realizing that I’m more than a little unprepared for this line of questioning.

“But you’ve had like three more kids since?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, and I wonder if that was all he wanted to know, or if he’s still trying to word his real question. “So… did you _want_ more kids?”

“Well…” My default answer to this question has always been yes. I just tell whoever is asking that I always wanted a big family, like the one I came from, and that Natalie and I always planned to have children while we were young. But he knows that we never planned it, so I don’t see any reason to lie about the rest. “Not exactly. It’s just…” I sigh deeply, wishing there was a way to say this without it sounding a terrible as it is. “It’s kind of this unspoken deal we have.”

“What do you mean?”

“She wants this. I mean, she wanted to marry me, and she wanted to have kids. And she honestly doesn’t care if I’m gone half the time as long as she still has the ring on her finger and her kids still have my eyes or my nose or my smile.”  
  
“Wow.” He laughs softly, but there’s very little humor to the sound. “That’s bleak.”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s _not_ a bad person. She’s sweet, and she’s kind, and she’s an amazing mom. This was just… her dream, you know? She wanted to marry Taylor Hanson. And my dream was to be a musician, and to spend my life making music and performing for people. It’s a compromise, I guess. I get to have my dream as long as she gets to have hers.”

“So basically… she lets you tour and do whatever the hell you want-”

“Within reason.”

“As long as she can have as many kids as she wants?”

“Pretty much.”

“What happens when you have like… ten kids? Or when she’s too old to have kids anymore?”

An undeniable tightness constricts my chest, and I have to take a breath and calmly remind myself that the day I’ll have to deal with that reality is still a long way off. “I try not to ask myself that.”

“Have you guys talked about how many more kids you’re gonna have?”

“Not really.” I admit quietly, swallowing the lump in my throat at the thought of the conversation I _know_ is probably waiting for me when I get back to Tulsa after this last minute excursion. “But it’s probably about that time again.”

“About what time?” He asks in confusion. “Are you on a schedule or something?”

“Unofficially.” I try to joke, but the reality is too depressing for me to keep the smile on my face for more than a second or two. “Ezra, my eldest, he’s eight. My daughter, Penny, was born two and a half years after him, and River was born almost eighteen months after her. Viggo, our youngest, was born two years after River.” My jaw clenches as I fight against the dread in the pit of my stomach and the tears forming in my eyes. “He’ll be two in December…”

“Oh…”

“And to make matters worse, her best friend is six months pregnant. So I think it’s safe to say that she’s getting a little baby crazy right now.”

“I don’t know how she does it.” He chuckles softly. “One kid seems like too much work to me. Four has gotta be like… constant chaos.”

“You’d be surprised, actually. I’m one of seven, and my parents always managed pretty well. As long as you know how to keep them under control, and you’ve got a team of reliable babysitters in place, it’s not as impossible as it seems.”

“Still… you’d think four would keep her sufficiently busy.”

“They do, but for her it’s not really about staying busy. It’s more about feeling important and needed, I think. And nothing gives her that feeling like being pregnant and having a baby that relies on her for _everything._ That’s why she always starts to get that ‘itch’ right around the time they turn two; they can do more for themselves at that age. They don’t need her in the same way a baby does, and she starts craving that feeling again.”

As I think about what I’ve said, I start to feel incredibly guilty. I don’t mean to make her sound crazy, or like she blackmails me into having kids, holding my freedom hostage until I impregnate her. That’s not how it is. It might be how it feels to me sometimes, but it’s not her fault. No more than it is mine, anyway.

“I know it sounds bad, but it’s not like what I do is all that different.” I quickly explain, though I get the feeling he doesn’t quite see it that way. “I disappear into the studio for months to work on a new album, then I tour to promote it for a couple of years, then I go back to the studio and start all over again. She does the same thing, just…”

“With human beings?” He offers in slight amusement.

“Well… with the amount of time and energy I spend on making music, and the amount of myself I put into some of our songs, they may as well be living breathing beings.”

“I guess I can see that…”

We fall silent again, and I’m too consumed with contemplating my fucked up life to worry about how insane he thinks it all sounds. I know it’s not exactly normal or healthy, but at this point I don’t think there’s any way out. I’m in too deep. I could have made different choices, I could have chosen not to marry her at all and just deal with the consequences. But I chose to do the opposite, and now I’m dealing with the consequences of that decision instead.

Sometimes I’m not sure which choice I would have ended up regretting more.

“Are you moping?”

I laugh uncertainly at the bluntness of his question. “What?”

“You’re moping, aren’t you?” He accuses lightly, switching the lamp back on and causing me to clamp my eyes shut quickly to block out the glare. “Where are your pants?”

“ _Excuse me_?!”

“You heard me! Where are- never mind, found ‘em.”

Cautiously, I crack open one eye and then the other, pushing myself up in bed as I watch him search through my pockets until he finds the eye shadow compact that Sutan gave me back at the venue. Then he grabs his backpack and walks over to my bed, waving me over to the opposite side without a word. Next thing I know, he’s sitting on the mattress beside me, turning on the light over my bed and rooting around in his bag for his makeup kit.

“What’re you doing?” I ask dumbly, already having a very strong suspicion about where this is going. “Tommy-”

“It’ll make you feel better, trust me.”

“I don’t think-”

My protest is cut short as he grabs my chin firmly but gently in his left hand and turns my face towards the light, adjusting the angle it’s tilted at until he finds a position that works for him.

“Close your eyes and hold still, okay?” He warns me playfully, taking a small makeup brush out and opening the compact. “It’ll only hurt for a second.”

I realize that there’s no way I’m getting out of this, so with a grudging sigh to show him that I’m not doing it gladly, I close my eyes and let him work. And to be honest… it doesn’t feel bad at all, really. The brushstrokes against my eyelids are gentle, he never uses too much pressure. I’m sure he’s probably being even more careful with me than he is when he applies his own makeup, simply because he can’t tell how it feels for me. It’s still incredibly weird, though. I’ve had makeup put on me for photo shoots and music videos before, but it wasn’t like this. I’ve never worn eye shadow, and I can’t imagine how it’s going to look once he’s done.

And it’s not even just the feel of having eye makeup put on me that’s strange, it’s the entire situation. When I think about it, it’s impossible not to laugh, which just makes him order me to stay still. But how can I _not_ laugh? It’s probably three am by now, at least, I’m sitting on a hotel bed in Oklahoma City, and a nearly naked guy that I have an insanely large crush on is doing my makeup.

It doesn’t get much more ridiculous than this.

After a while, I hear him put the brush down, but just when I think it’s safe to open my eyes, he tells me to keep them closed. A few seconds later, I feel something else against my eyelid, something a little harder than the brush, and once he’s done whatever it is he’s doing to both lids, he tells me to open my eyes again. When I see the eyeliner pencil coming towards me again, I shrink away automatically, but he rolls his eyes at me and tells me not to be a wuss before taking my face in his hand again and purposefully pulling it closer. It’s difficult to keep from blinking as he lines my bottom lids slowly, but once I figure out that this is a great opportunity to basically stare straight into his eyes, I stop resisting as much.

“One last thing…” He assures me with a smile that makes me weak. “Then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”

I wish he wouldn’t promise that.

My eyes follow his hand as he reaches into the makeup kit and pulls out a tube of mascara, and though my instinct is to tell him no, I figure that at this point it doesn’t make a whole lot of difference. He skillfully applies the mascara to my eyelashes, making several passes on each eye, for reasons I choose not to question. And then finally, he pulls back and admires his handiwork proudly.

“I like it, it think suits you.”

“It does not.”

“You haven’t even seen it!” He reminds me as I push the sheets the rest of the way off of my legs and climb off of the bed to look in the mirror. “Give yourself a minute to get used to it before you judge.”

I don’t need a minute, I’ve already decided that I look like a _really_ ugly drag queen. The makeup would look fine on a girl, but on a guy who has a five o’clock shadow and messy hair, it looks totally out of place. I notice movement behind me in my reflection, and I watch as he gets off of the bed and walks over to me. He reaches up and places his hands over my face, hiding everything above my eyebrows and below my nose from view so that all I can see are my eyes.

“Now tell me _honestly_ that you don’t think it looks good.”

“It looks like I have a mask on.” I tell him through his fingers.

“Don’t look at my hands, just look at your eyes!”

With a sigh, I do as he tells me, trying to focus only on the makeup and how it makes my eyes look. But it’s still so strange to see them like this. I’ll admit that there is something a little… sultry about it, though. For some reason I have a strong urge to bat my eyelashes.

What the fuck is _that_ about?!

“Okay, this is freaking me out!” I laugh uncomfortably, pulling away from his hands and turning to face him. “Don’t get me wrong, I think the _makeup_ looks good, just… not on me.”

“Well, _I_ think you’re wrong.”

I follow him back over to my bed, obeying his silent gesture for me to get onto it before he pulls a pack of makeup remover wipes out of his backpack and tells me to close my eyes once again.

“I’m sorry.” I tell him apologetically, feeling bad that he wasted his time doing my makeup only for me to decide in all of sixty seconds that I wanted it gone.

“ _Don’t_ be.”

“But-“

“You _really_ need to stop apologizing all the time. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but you do it like every ten minutes.”

“Because I generally do something I need to apologize for every ten minutes.” I smile teasingly as he tenderly wipes away the dark powder from my eyelids.

“No, you don’t. You’re just being yourself, and you shouldn’t ever apologize for that.”

That’s kind of a novel concept for me. For most of my life, I’ve been telling myself the exact opposite.

When he pulls his hand away from my face, I slowly open my eyes again, only to find him sitting there staring back at me thoughtfully. I can’t read his expression, and the look in his eyes doesn’t give me any hint about what’s going on behind them. But when he drops the makeup wipe over the edge of the bed and leans in to press his lips to mine, I stop wondering what’s on his mind.

What begins as a slow, soft kiss quickly becomes something else entirely. With every bump and graze of his lips, he moves a little closer to me, which ultimately forces me to move back further and further onto the bed. Eventually there’s nowhere left to go but down, and with the warm palms of his hands placed against the bare skin of my chest, that’s exactly where he makes sure I go. I sigh softly as I feel his hair fall forwards, brushing my cheek lightly and sending a shiver down my spine. His body settles on top of mine, and I feel more submissive beneath him than I ever expected to, despite the unfathomable amount of power he seems to have over me.

A breathy groan escapes me the first time he rocks his lower body against mine, and my hands grasp at his hips as I raise mine to meet them again. The sound and the _feel_ of him moaning through our kiss is almost more of a turn on than the rhythm our hips have found. I can’t get enough of knowing that he feels good, but more than that, I can’t get enough of knowing that it’s because of me. There’s nothing like the rush I get from hearing him gasp and groan in response to the things _I_ do to him, it leaves me breathless.

My fingers lace themselves in his hair, holding him close as his mouth journeys down to my neck. His kisses are more aggressive against the sensitive skin there, but the fleeting concerns I have about him leaving a mark that I’ll have to explain to my wife are chased away as his teeth nip at my collarbone playfully. It causes my hips to buck against his and my back to arch off of the sheets, pressing my chest to his lips as his tongue tastes and teases.

I honestly can’t remember the last time I felt this way, it’s like my skin is on fire, every cell is charged with electricity. It’s bordering on being too much to take, but it feels so good that I don’t want it to stop.

His tongue skims over my nipple wickedly, and I’m mid-whimper when he closes his mouth over it and begins to suck hungrily.

“Oh, God… that feels so good…”

My grip on his hair tightens instinctively, but I can see a smile on his lips as he continues to use his teeth and tongue to drive me wild. Part of me wants to simply close my eyes and throw my head back, to allow these indescribable sensations to wash over me, but the rest of me is completely hypnotized by what he’s doing. I can’t take my eyes off of his mouth, and mine is practically hanging open with desire.

Without warning, he returns his lips to mine, kissing me so forcefully that for a moment I’m too overwhelmed to kiss him back. I’m powerless, following his lead and grasping helplessly at whatever feelings he stirs in me. It’s difficult to imagine that I could feel any better than I already do, but when his hand slips beneath the waistband of my underwear, and his fingers unhesitatingly close around me, everything I was already experiencing multiplies immediately.

“ _Tommy-_ ” He squeezes me slightly as his hand jerks upward, and anything else I may have been planning to say to him is cut short by a moan.

With shaking fingers, I reach down to my boxers and fumble to push them over his hand and off of my hips so that his movements aren’t as confined. And the expression on his face as he gazes down in fascination, watching his hand as he works me into a frenzy, is pretty much the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. He looks just as turned on as I feel, his teeth are digging into his lower lip just as mercilessly as my teeth are biting into my own, and when his eyes finally meet mine again, they’re so dark with want that it makes my whole body shudder.

It’s only seconds later that the orgasm I’d been both fighting off and fighting for leaves me a trembling, gasping wreck on the bed beneath him, hopelessly trying to return his kisses, but too breathless and spent to really do so. He continues to caress me over and over as I slowly come down, though at a much slower, gentler pace than the one he used before.

I stupidly believe that it’s safe to relax, that there’s no conceivable way he could make me feel any more sated than I do at this very moment. But then he releases his grip on me, and he brings his hand up to his face. His eyes study it for a second before he slides his index finger into his mouth and sucks on it slowly.

And even though he’s not actually touching me anymore, I _moan._

“Do you have _any_ idea how fucking hot you are?” I pant weakly, watching him as he finishes sucking every last trace of cum off of his fingers like a cat cleaning its paws after a particularly satisfying bowl of cream.

His only response is to smirk at me devilishly, and my whole body tenses in anticipation as he leans down and licks up the few drops that are still resting on my stomach. I can’t breathe, I’ve literally forgotten how to exhale! All of my attention is going to a single one of my senses right now, and I swear he’s moving in slow motion as my eyes intently follow every lap of his tongue against my skin.

Eventually he kisses his way back up my body, until his lips find mine once again, and our mouths move and meld together lazily as he pulls the sheets over us both and settles down beside me. I think we both know that the smartest thing to do right now is turn out the lights and get some sleep, because we barely have three hours left to do so. But I don’t think either of us cares about being smart.

If being smart means that I have to stop kissing him, I’d much rather be stupid.

 


	9. Chapter 9

  


 

 

I fell asleep last night (or early this morning, I guess) more satisfied than I have been in…  years, to be honest. And I don’t just mean satisfied sexually, although Tommy definitely more than took care of that part, too. But usually when I’m lying in bed at night, trying to drift off into unconsciousness, all I can think about are the things I need to do the next day, or the next week, or month, or year… I make to-do lists in my head, and they stress me out and exhaust me until I no longer have the mental energy to deal with them anymore.

But as I fell asleep beside him, there was nothing on my mind besides how good I felt. And how good _he_ felt. For the first time in a very long time, I was _exactly_ where I wanted to be.

So waking up to an empty bed is more than a little disconcerting. We agreed that we were going to wake up at six-thirty, he was going to take a quick shower, and then I was going to drive him over to the airport. But it’s _nine-thirty_ , which means that he probably just landed in Memphis.

I can’t believe he left without saying goodbye.

I guess I must have misread everything that happened yesterday. Not that I thought it made us soul mates or anything, but I’ll admit that I assumed it made us something other than casual acquaintances who breezed into and out of each other’s lives without a care. Apparently he feels differently. I wonder if he woke up this morning, saw me asleep next to him, realized what he’d done, and got the hell out of here as quickly as he could. Why else would he sneak out before dawn without so much as leaving a note?

As pathetic as it sounds, I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to take a shower and drive back to Tulsa. I just want to roll over and go back to sleep, and if it’s not too much to ask, perhaps stay that way indefinitely. Unfortunately for me, check-out is in half an hour, so if I don’t get my miserable ass up and into a shower soon, I’m going to have to deal with the front desk calling me incessantly until I leave. So, with a tired sigh, I throw the sheets off and climb out of bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes as I stagger my way over to the bathroom.

I’m in the middle of washing my hands after relieving myself when I look up at the mirror in front of me. At first glance, I don’t notice anything different about my reflection. I see the same wilting former-child-star I’ve become accustomed to staring back at me. I’m too young to look and feel as old as I do. But just before I reach out to turn the hot water off, I see something on my cheek. It looks like a smudge at first, and I assume it must be some leftover makeup from last night. But when I turn my face to the side and lean in to get a closer look, I realize that it’s not.

It _is_ makeup, but it’s not eye shadow and it’s not mine.

For the first time since opening my eyes, a smile graces my lips. I abandon my plans to take a shower, and I head back out into the bedroom to find my iPhone. Ignoring the two texts I apparently have from Zac and the missed call from my wife, at least for the moment, I open my contacts and scroll through until I get to his name.

It doesn’t go straight to voicemail, which I take as a sign that he doesn’t have his phone switched off and therefore probably isn’t in-flight anymore, and after a few rings he answers.

“Hey.” I can hear the smile in his tone, and it makes my own smile even wider.

“Hi. How was your flight?”

“I don’t know, I slept through most of it. We just landed like five minutes ago.”

“You didn’t wake me up.” I inform him accusingly, but I’m still in such a good mood that I don’t sound upset about it at all anymore. “I was supposed to drive you to the airport.”

“Yeah, I know, but I felt bad waking you. I figured you needed to get some sleep if you have to drive home later, so I just took the hotel shuttle over instead. Sorry.” He apologizes sincerely.

“It’s okay. I got your ‘note’…” I hear him snicker on the other end of the line, and I roll my eyes at how amusing he thinks he is. Luckily, he can’t see me grinning, so he doesn’t know how amusing _I_ think he is. “It’s a good thing I looked in the mirror before I got in the shower, otherwise I would’ve washed it away without seeing it, and then I woulda had to assume that you just ditched me.”

“Don’t get me wrong, the idea of ditching you _did_ cross my mind. But I have that whole ‘nice guy’ rep to think about, so…”

“Right. Because I would’ve run straight to People Magazine, weeping about how you took advantage of me and then cast me aside without a word.”

“Hey, it could happen! I made a name for myself with that whole AMA ‘holy shit, there’s two guys kissing on national TV’ thing. How could I be sure that you weren’t like using me for my enormous… fame?”

“To help resuscitate my ailing career, you mean?”

“Exactly.”

“Asshole.”

He laughs softly as I sit on the end of the bed we shared last night, feeling infinitely better than I did when I woke up alone. That’s not to say that I’m feeling awesome or anything, I still hate the fact that he’s gone, and that I have no idea when I’ll get to see him again. And I still have to go home and face my wife, and my brother, and the mess I’ve made for myself with both of them. But right now, in this moment, I’m okay.

“Seriously, though, I’m sorry I just split without saying anything. I guess I kinda suck at goodbyes.”

“Well… what usually helps for me is figuring out when the next time I’ll get to say hello will be, and focusing on that instead.” I suggest hopefully, trying my hardest to sound as casual about it as possible. “How much longer are you on tour?”

“The U.S. leg is pretty much done in like a couple of weeks.” My hopes soar as I think about the fact that the second leg of our tour will be done at around the same time. Maybe I can fly out to L.A. and see him then. “But we’re flying out to Asia a few days after that.”

Fuck. “Oh.”

“How about you?”

“Well, we start our second leg in a few days, then we’re done with that by the end of the month and we have a few weeks off before the third leg in November.”

“Huh…” He sighs, and I’m pretty sure that the silence which follows is a result of him trying to figure out some way to make this seemingly impossible scheduling situation work to our advantage. “Do you have your tour dates on your website?”

“Yeah, we have a tour section. They should all be listed on there.”

“Okay, well, I’ll check it out and see if anything lines up.”

“Okay.”

I try to smile, but it’s not an easy thing to do right now. I can tell that he’s as doubtful that we’ll find any time to meet up for the next couple of months as I am, and that thought is depressing as hell. It’s very, _very_ rare for me to ever wish that I didn’t have to tour, because touring is my escape. It’s how I come up for air. But If not touring meant that I could see him again sooner, I might actually take that option. Last night wasn’t just a desperate gasp for oxygen, it was something more. I didn’t simply stick my head above water and take a breath, I was pulled out of the water completely and given the kiss of life.

“I should probably let you go.” I grudgingly concede. Quite frankly, I could sit here and talk to him about nothing in particular for hours if either of us had the time. But I know that neither of us does. “I hope you have a good show tonight.”

“Thanks. Have a safe drive home, okay?”

“I will.” He’s not the only one who sucks at goodbyes, and even just figuring out how to end our conversation and hang up the phone is more difficult than it should be. “Talk to you later.”

“Okay.”

Just _say_ it, Taylor. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

After staring at the black, unlit screen of my iPhone for a pathetically extended and pointless amount of time, I place it back down on the desk at the foot of one of the beds and head back into the bathroom to take a shower. Again I notice the lip-shaped mark on my cheek when I glance up at myself in the mirror, and again it brings a smile to my face and chases away most of my glum mood. Part of me doesn’t want clean it off, but Lord knows the last thing I need is to have Natalie asking me why there’s lipstick on my cheek when I get home. So, as I step under the almost painfully hot stream of water, I grudgingly wash away the only proof I have that last night ever happened.

It’s time to go back to my real life.

I know from extensive experience that there are two main ways to get to Tulsa from Oklahoma City. One is faster than the other, but not by much. I choose to take the slightly slower route. I know it’s stupid, and fifteen extra minutes alone in the car isn’t going to make any difference in the grand scheme of things. But if I _have_ to go home, and I’ve got no other excuses left not to, then I’m going to take the “long” way there.

The dread I was already feeling only increases when I finally pull up to our house and see Zac’s car in the driveway. I should probably be grateful that Nat’s car is absent, so at least I won’t have to worry about having the “when can we have another baby?” talk with her. But right now, I think I’d rather face that fate than face him. I put the car in park and turn off the engine, but it takes me another few minutes after that to psych myself up enough to open the door and get out. I have no idea what mood he’s going to be in, I never do anymore. He has more mood swings than his pregnant wife. And I know it’s partly my fault, I know that me kissing Tommy hurt him. But if I could forgive him for what he did to me in the past, there’s no good reason (besides him being a total brat) why he can’t forgive me for what I did. If he wants something to hold against me, last night is a much more significant betrayal. Or it would be, if there was anything left between us for me to betray.

But quite honestly, it doesn’t feel like there is anymore.

Nothing has happened between us in weeks now, the only passion we seem to experience for one another comes in the form of arguing. He runs so hot and cold with me; one minute he wants me and the next he wants nothing to do with me. I understand that he’s angry at me, and that he doesn’t want to let me off the hook for what happened, but if he thinks I’m just going to let him pick me up and put me down as he pleases indefinitely, he’s _seriously_ deluded.

I take a deep breath and unlock the front door, opening my mouth to call out that I’m home but then deciding against it. I don’t know if I want to announce my presence just yet. As I step further into the house, I can hear voices and music coming from the family room, and when I finally reach the end of the hall and peer around the archway, I see Zac and Ezra playing video games on the Wii. Zac is playfully declaring Ez a cheater, so apparently he just lost, but they’re both laughing and seem to be in good moods, which is a relief. River, Shep, and Viggo are playing with Legos on the floor a few feet away, and when River looks up and sees me, he shrieks so shrilly that I actually have to cover my ears.  
  
“Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!”

Next thing I know, I have three kids latched on to me, arms wrapped around my waist and my legs and my neck, each pushing and shoving to get closer, and completely ignoring my requests for them to be nice to each other.

River eventually pulls back from the near-headlock he has me in and beams at me. “I missed you!”

“I missed you more!” Challenges Ezra, his voice muffled because his face is still buried in my shirt.

“No!” Viggo whines petulantly, squeezing my leg so possessively that I almost lose my footing and fall over backwards. “Me!”

“Well, I missed all three of you way more than you missed me.”

“Nuh-uh!” My eldest giggles, flashing me a gap-toothed grin as he cranes his neck to look up at me. “We missed you times an _infinity_!”

“Times an infinity?” I ask in exaggerated skepticism. “No way!”

“Yeah way! Times an infinity times _ten_!” Insists River ambitiously.

“Well, now you’re just showing off.”

They giggle as I set River on the ground and wrap all three of them in a big hug, closing my eyes and breathing in that comforting, clean scent that they always seem to have. I don’t know if it’s a natural kid thing, or if there’s something special they put in children’s shampoo and bubble bath that they don’t put in the stuff the make for adults. Whatever it is, it’s the smell I’ve come to associate with the best thing about being home.

“How was your trip?” Zac finally asks as I release them all and look up at him.

I can’t read him, which is pretty unusual for me. I can almost always tell how he’s feeling, but right now I have no clue if he’s genuinely interested or if he just wants to know how pissed off to be at me. However, I _do_ know that he doesn’t seriously expect me to give him any kind of real answer in front of our kids.

“It was great.” I tell him vaguely, though sincerely. “Exactly what I needed.”

He nods slowly, his eyes studying me carefully as I get to my feet and allow River and Viggo to pull me over to the Lego fort they were building with their cousin before I arrived. I let them point out and detail every amazing feature of it for me, but I can feel him watching me the entire time and it’s incredibly distracting. It makes me feel awful that the words of my own children barely register with me because his eyes are burning into the back of my head. I just want to be a decent father for once and give them my undivided attention, but I’m such a fuck up that I can’t even do that one simple thing for them.

Once they’re done sharing their creation with me, I tell them to play nicely together while I get some coffee, and then I leave the room. I’m well aware that Zac will follow me into the kitchen as soon as I walk out, and I’m also fully expecting him to start prying for information about what happened last night. I’m just not sure how much to tell him.

He continues to watch me as I fill the empty coffee pot with water and pour it into the coffeemaker, and eventually I can’t take the silence and the weight of his gaze any longer.

“Where’s Nat?”

“Kate was going shopping for baby stuff, Nat and Penny wanted to go with her. I said I’d watch the boys.”

“Right.” We both know that he volunteered to watch them because he wanted to be here when I got home so that he could corner me and question me about my trip to Thackerville, just like he’s about to. “How long ago did they leave?”

“Couple of hours.” He shrugs disinterestedly, leaning against the counter a few feet away from me while I retrieve a mug from the cupboard. I know better than to offer him any; he hates coffee. “What did you mean before? About it being what you needed?”

I sigh deeply, refusing to look him in the eyes and instead focusing on the dark liquid as it slowly drips into the glass pot below. “Exactly that.”

“So what happened?”

“We had dinner, I went to the show, and then we hung out for a while afterwards.”

It’s not a lie. Not really. It’s just a _very_ toned down version of the truth. And I honestly don’t mean to hide anything from him, but I also don’t quite know how to come right out and say “I blew him backstage and then he jerked me off in a hotel room.” There’s no delicate way to put it, and I don’t want to hurt him. Besides, I’m not so sure it’s even any of his business at this juncture.

“Did you fuck him?”

Apparently he doesn’t share that concern. “No.”

There’s a brief pause, and I assume he’s probably gauging my reaction to the question and trying to decide if he believes the answer. “Did you kiss him again?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Why do you think?”

With a shrug, I force myself to face him. His expression is cold, resentful. But there’s fear in his eyes. “Honestly, Zac… I don’t know. I don’t know anything when it comes to whatever this thing between us is anymore.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” He snaps angrily.

“You haven’t come near me in weeks! You’ve been treating me like the scum of the fucking Earth since I told you that I kissed him-”

“Because I was pissed at you!”

“ _So_?! You think I wasn’t pissed at you for fooling around with Carrick? I was fucking _crushed_ , but you apologized and I forgave you! I didn’t lord it over you for months afterwards the way you’ve been doing to me, even though we both _know_ you went right back and did it again! And what I did was _nothing_ compared to what you did! You just like pouting and playing the victim. You want me to beg and grovel over and over again so that _you_ can feel more important. Never mind how you make _me_ feel in the process!” For the duration of my rant, he’s been holding my stare defiantly, but now he’s rolling his eyes as though he thinks I’m being pathetic. And it just makes me even more annoyed at him. “I’m done begging, Zac. In fact… I’m done _period_.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’ve apologized again and again, and if you haven’t accepted it by now you never will. And that sucks, but if that’s how you feel then there’s nothing I can do to change it. Honestly… I don’t even want to try. I never wanted things to end up like this, but if this is where they’ve ended up, then that’s just how it is, I guess. I don’t want to do this with you anymore, I’m _so_ sick of fighting. I love you, nothing is _ever_ gonna change that. You’ve been my best friend my entire life, and you will always be my little brother, but at this point-”

“At this point what?” He asks me, his tone condemning even though his voice trembles faintly as he speaks.

“At this point… I think that’s all we are.”

The coffeemaker hisses and splutters angrily beside me on the countertop, but I can’t tear my eyes from his. We’re trapped in an endless, wordless battle of wills, each of us determined not to be the first one to show weakness and break this staring match. But when we hear the front door open and Nat’s voice calling out that they’re back, we simultaneously look over at the archway leading out into the hall.

It’s only a matter of seconds before Penny comes running into the room, charging straight at me with a gleeful cry of “daddy!” that makes it impossible for me for hold on to the frustration I’d been feeling before. I easily scoop her up, holding her against my chest as she wraps her tiny arms around my neck and informs me that I’m not allowed to leave again until she says so. Our wives are close behind her, and Kate offers me a warm smile as she slips her arm around Zac and fondly watches Nat join in the embrace I’m sharing with our only daughter.

So here I am.

Twenty-seven years old, married, a father of four (and probably about to be talked into making it five), making small-talk with my wife and sister-in-law, both of whom I’ve been lying to and betraying pretty much daily for the past decade. I just ended the incestuous relationship I’ve been having with my little brother since I was a kid, and my phone is vibrating in my pocket with what I’m desperately hoping is a text from the guy I spent last night in a hotel bed with.

Yeah.

I have this situation _totally_ under control.


	10. Chapter 10

  


 

 

_ Portland, Oregon – September 22nd, 2010 _

__

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt as claustrophobic as I have these past couple of weeks. I should have been glad to get out on the road again, I _never_ hate touring. But thanks to me and my big mouth, I’m now stuck almost twenty-four-seven with someone who is perpetually pissed at me and not afraid to show it. It’s not that I regret ending things with Zac; it needed to happen for _so_ many reasons. But I wish I’d done it differently. Whether he deserved to be let down gently or not, it would have been better for both of us (and for everyone forced to share this bus with us) if I’d handled it with a little more sensitivity and a little less brutal honesty.

If I thought he was treating me like shit before, it was nothing compared to the scorn I’ve been living with since the day I got back from Thackerville. He hasn’t even given me the chance to explain myself, he refuses to engage in conversation with me anymore unless it’s work related.

But at least when I’m on the road, I’m not at home listening to Nat talk about babies, babies, _babies_!

I was right when I suspected that she was going to want to have another kid soon. Once she and Kate had finished showing us all of the tiny clothes and shoes they’d bought for the baby, and Zac and Kate had taken Shep home, the hinting began. Actually, I guess the hinting started _while_ they were showing us all the baby stuff. The “aww”ing and flashing me those big, brown eyes or hers as she clutched cute little hoodies with bear ears and heaved wistful, longing sighs didn’t go unnoticed by me. Every time she looked at me that way, I could practically hear the words “I want one!”

By dinnertime, she was in full on “when can we have another baby?” mode. Even if I hadn’t already known that she’d been thinking about it for months, her well thought out arguments made it obvious. Every time I tried to suggest that we should wait, she’d shoot down whatever reason I gave with some logical reason of her own that made mine totally invalid. I don’t know how she manages to make me feel guilty without seeming at all malicious, it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. And maybe she doesn’t. Maybe a normal, loving husband _wouldn’t_ feel guilty.

Maybe I’m a selfish asshole for not wanting five kids before I turn thirty.

I certainly felt like one by the time she was through with me that evening. Which is how I ended up agreeing that we could start trying for a baby when the second leg of the tour is over next week. It’s probably terrible of me, but I hope that it takes us a couple of tries. The longer I can postpone it, the easier it’ll be to breathe. Unfortunately for me, it’s never been a challenge for us to get pregnant. I’m fully aware that our fans joke about my “super sperm”; they say that I can impregnate a woman just by looking at her. It certainly feels that way with Natalie sometimes. I guess I could get a vasectomy without telling her, but eventually she’d want to go to some kind of fertility specialist or something, and I don’t see how I could hide the truth from her then. Besides, I’d feel like an even bigger fraud than I already do if I let her believe that there was a chance we could have another baby when I knew that I’d deliberately made sure that there wasn’t. I _can’t_ do that to her. And because I can’t, there’s very little doubt in my mind that I’ll be a father again by this time next year.

The thought of it makes me want to get off of this tour bus and run. Just… run until I drop dead from exhaustion.

There are only two things that make my life bearable right now: playing music, and texting Tommy.

As long as I have a show to play, or I get to talk to him (or both, preferably), my days don’t feel as crappy.  I just wish that we could actually _see_ each other. But he checked our tour dates, like he said he would, and nothing matched up. And tomorrow he’s flying out to Hong Kong and won’t even be in this country again until the end of next month. Part of me would like nothing more than to ditch my entire life and go with him, but I realize that it would be a bad idea on so many levels. I’m just going to have to deal with this and make the best of it.

_How’s it going?_

I doubt I’m going to get a reply from him anytime soon. We always seem to text each other at the worst times. But I just try to focus on the fact that at least I _can_ text him. I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to when he goes to Asia; roaming chargers are an absolute _bitch_.

When my phone vibrates on the table top in front of me, I literally jump in my seat. Zac looks up from his laptop on the opposite side of the bus aisle, rolling his eyes like he thinks I’m pathetic for practically pouncing on my phone. Then again, judging by how frequently he rolls his eyes at me lately, he thinks _everything_ I do is pathetic.

_Good. On my way to hang with a friend. You?_

I smile as I quickly type a reply, even though what I’m typing is nothing to really smile about.

_Sitting on the bus. Bored. Out. Of. My. Mind._

The bus door opens, and Muff boards with a Starbucks cup carrier in each hand. It feels like he left to get coffee hours ago, and I swear I am _this_ close to tackling him to the ground to get my hands on the venti caramel latte that I asked for. ODing on caffeine probably isn’t the healthiest solution to my boredom because bouncing off the “walls” of a tour bus isn’t all that satisfying. But right now I’ll take whatever momentary relief I can find.

_Hahaha. Poor Taylor. :p Do you need some entertainment?_

Smirking, I distractedly accept my to-go cup of coffee from Muff, glancing up at him just long enough to say “thanks” before going back to my phone (and trying to text with my left hand, which always takes forever).

_YES! Entertain me! PLEASE!_

I sit back with my latte, feeling considerably better than I did only ten minutes ago. I have no idea what he’s going to do to entertain me. Knowing him, it could be anything. He might just text me a joke, or take a picture of something on his phone, or send me a link to a youtube video. I don’t really care at this point, I’m _that_ bored.

But either he got distracted or whatever he’s planning to text me is taking a while to type up, because my phone is silent for what feels like forever.

_Knock knock._

I stare at the screen for a moment, surprised that it took him twenty minutes to initiate a knock knock joke. I guess he must’ve been busy.

_Who’s there?_

His reply comes almost immediately.

_Me._

Okay…

_Me who?_

While I wait for his response, I run through the list of possible “me who” punch lines I can come up with. Only I can’t come up with any at all, so it’s a very short list. I guess at least it’s a joke I haven’t heard before.

_No seriously it’s me._

I don’t get it.

_Huh?_

I feel _really_ slow right now. I’m actually kind of used to that feeling, I just don’t like feeling it when I’m talking to him because I don’t want him to think I’m dense.

_Open the door! Lol_

_What_ door? I am so fucking lost!

Unless…

Wait.

Does he mean…

No.

No, he can’t possibly mean…

I get out of my seat so quickly that I bump the table in front of me and almost send my precious cup of coffee to the ground, but right now I just couldn’t care less. As I hurry down the aisle towards the door of the bus, I keep telling myself over and over that I’m an idiot, and I shouldn’t get my hopes up because the odds of him standing out in the parking lot are slim to none and I probably just misunderstood him.

But when I open the door and look outside, I see him standing over by one of the venue security guards who’s trying to keep the growing number of fans at bay. If I was as much of a girl as everyone always says, I’d probably cry right now. But I’m not, so I won’t. Although it does take all the self-restraint I have to keep myself from running right over to him and kissing him so hard that it’d probably knock him over like a bowling pin.

Probably _not_ the smartest thing to do in front of the thirty or so fans already lined up by the theater.

“What the fuck?” I laugh in absolute shock, stepping off of the bus and walking over to him as I try to ignore the fact that about twelve people just whipped their cameras out and started taking pictures of me. “ _How_ are you here?”

“Um… I drove.” He tells me in a ‘duh’ tone, shrugging and attempting to be nonchalant about the whole thing, even though he’s grinning.

“From where, though?”

“Washington.” He nods north, in the general direction of the next state up. “We had our last U.S. show there last night, so I rented a car and drove down here this morning.”

To say that I’m stunned is an understatement. Especially because he told me that we had _no_ shows anywhere near each other. “You lied.”

“I prefer to think of it as withholding information for the sake of surprising you.”

“You _lied_!”

“Does that mean you’re not happy to see me?” He pouts playfully, knowing full well that I am.

But just in case there’s any doubt in his mind, I step forwards and pull him into a hug that’s so tight it probably hurts. If it does hurt he doesn’t say anything, though. Over his shoulder I notice several fans staring at us intently, and as much as I hate to let go of him, I know that holding on any longer than I already have is going to make them even more curious than they already are.

“How long are you here? Do you still have to leave for Hong Kong tomorrow?” I ask, leading him back over towards the still open bus door, which Ike is now hanging out of as he frowns at me strangely.

“Yeah, I have a flight from Portland down to LAX tonight, and then we fly out like first thing in the morning. The rest of the guys flew down from Seattle last night, but I figured this might be the last chance we have to hang out for a while, so…”

We come to a stop in front of my older brother, who is still staring at us like he’s never seen either of us before in his life. “Hey, Ike.”

“Hey.”

“Do you maybe wanna back up a little?” I chuckle softly, shooting Tommy a look that hopefully conveys the “don’t worry, he’s not as slow as he looks” message I’m aiming for.

He takes a few steps back, enough for us both to board the bus and close the door behind us, but he still lingers just inside. I assume this is his way of showing that he wants to be introduced to this stranger in our midst, but why he can’t just sit down and openly gawk at Tommy like the rest of the people on the bus is a mystery to me.

“Tommy, this is my brother, Isaac.” I explain to him as Ike holds out his hand much more welcomingly than his gatekeeper stance suggested he would be.

I instinctively glance over at Zac, who doesn’t notice me looking at him because his eyes are fixed unblinkingly on Tommy’s face. I know him well enough to know that he’s trying to figure out what’s so special about him, he’s comparing their looks, sizing him up, and apparently he’s not impressed.  

“And that’s my younger brother, Zac.” I add, hoping that having attention called to him will force him to at least feign civility.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Tommy smiles at him, though I can tell he’s feeling a little freaked out by the atmosphere in here right now.

And I don’t think I can lay the blame completely on my brothers for that. _Everyone_ is staring at him in stony silence. If they stared at me like that, I’d be freaked out, too! I don’t know what their problem is; they’re never usually like this.

“Guys, this is Tommy.” Maybe formally introducing him to our crew will cure some of their curiosity and make them act less like a bunch of weirdos. “He’s a friend of mine from L.A.” I hear Zac snort at the word “friend” before going back to whatever he was doing on his laptop, but I decide to ignore it and hope that no one else notices.

Will, De, and the rest of our crew finally nod and smile at him, which makes the tension in the air dissipate a little, but I can tell that they’re all wondering what he’s doing here and how I know him. Honestly, though, I don’t really feel like hanging out here and telling them all how we met. Not only because it’s a pretty boring story when you leave out all of the details (which I’d have to, because the details involve me cheating on my wife with a guy), but because if he has to leave for Los Angeles by the end of the day, I don’t particularly want to share what little time I have left with him.

“Are you hungry?” I ask him quietly, and he smiles at me as though I just posed a question that only the two of us really understand.

I was actually talking food, because I’m an idiot who was about to waste a couple of hours eating instead of doing whatever it is that he’s thinking about that’s making him look at me like that. But to hell with lunch; what he’s just put on the menu is _way_ more appealing! __

“Starving.”

Yeah, he’s _definitely_ not talking about food.

“We’re gonna go grab some lunch and catch up.” I tell Ike as casually as I can, although I’m pretty sure that the stupid smile on my face is probably way too wide and totally giving me away. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Uh… wait a second.” He grabs my arm as I turn to leave, holding me back and staring at me like I’ve gone insane. “What about the walk?”

“And sound check?” Zac chimes in, and even though he was talking to me, the scowl on his face is directed at Tommy. “You have prior commitments, in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t forget.” I snap at him, doing my best to remain as calm as possible because I don’t want to have yet another spat in front of our crew. And I especially don’t want Tommy to witness it. “But you’ve spent all morning saying that you want to cancel the walk because you’d rather stay here and get all of those Halo Reach points back that you lost last night-”

“I wasn’t serious!”

Oh, whatever! He was bitching about it like no one’s business until five minutes ago. “If you wanna do the walk, do the walk. I don’t _need_ to be there, I’ll walk two miles tomorrow to make up for it if that’ll make you happy. And we can afford to leave sound check until six, doors aren’t until seven. Nick and the guys can just do their sound check before us, it’s no big deal.”

“What about the meet and greet?” Ike asks just when I think I’ve made enough good points to secure my escape. “We can’t do _that_ without you, and we can’t leave it until doors, either.”

“Look, it’s noon right now. I’ll be back by five. We can do sound check, then the meet and greet, and we’ll be done by six thirty at the latest. Is that okay with everyone?”

Why am I even asking? I’m twenty-seven years old! I don’t need my brother’s permission to go wherever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want. I already told them I’d be back in time for every obligation I have (except for the walk, which I _do_ feel bad about, but… I _can’t_ pass up the opportunity to spend an afternoon with Tommy if I’m not going to see him again for months!). I don’t care if they’re mad at me; it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with a thousand and one times before.

Besides, I’m more than certain it’ll be worth it.

Without another word, I grab my bag off of the bus seat and turn to Tommy, nodding towards the door of the bus. I notice him glance warily at Ike and Zac before walking away, and I hope he doesn’t think I was a jerk to them. I probably was, but it’s not like I didn’t have a good reason. And I don’t just mean today.

My life has been like this for the past fourteen years. All of my decisions are apparently up for discussion and debate, nothing I do can ever slip by the two of them without question or opinion. I’ve never had to only answer to myself. When I was a kid I answered to my parents, and I was barely considered an adult in the eyes of the law when I got married and had to start answering to my wife. And every step of the way I’ve had to answer to my brothers because they’re my band mates, and apparently _everything_ I do has the potential to impact them.

I just want _one_ thing that’s mine. One thing that no one else gets to share or comment on or veto.

Is that really too much to ask?

“Maybe you should wait here while I bring the car around?” He suggests, glancing over at the waiting fans as we step off of the bus. “Unless you wanna get mobbed?”

“Good idea.” I smile gratefully, though I’m sure it looks half-hearted to him.

I watch as he walks away, trying to sort through the mess of emotions I’m feeling so that when he comes back with the car I’ll be in a better mood. I hate that he went out of his way to spend time with me and things are already screwed up. But my whole life is screwed up, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I think part of me is just afraid that the more he sees what my life is really like, the more he’s going to regret getting involved with me. I keep expecting him to disappear. Part of me doesn’t even believe he’s going to come back with the car, it’s convinced that it was just an excuse to leave, and that he’s probably already driving full speed in the opposite direction.

But sure enough, after only a few minutes, I see the security guard standing over by the sidewalk move a couple of the cones that were sectioning off the parking lot so that he can wave Tommy through. I don’t know if he’s insane, or glutton for punishment, or on some kind of mission from a higher power, but somehow I haven’t scared him off yet.

I’m not sure how long that’ll last, but I fully intend to enjoy it while it does.


	11. Chapter 11

  


 

 

Thanks to the behavior of my brothers and our crew, our moods are very different now than they were the moment I opened the door of the bus and saw him standing there. Even though we’re alone in the car he rented, we’re being haunted by the same tension that was present on the bus before. It’s as though they’re all still with us, sitting in the back seat, staring at us and making us feel criticized without uttering so much as a single word.

And I feel ashamed. Not only for the way they all behaved towards him, but for the way I behaved, too. It’s embarrassing to think about how I snapped at them. I’m sure that Tommy probably thought I was overreacting, and in that particular situation I probably was. But it wasn’t just today that set me off, it was… everything. Everything that has happened this week, this month, this year, this _decade_. My whole life. It’s like there’s a voice in my head constantly telling me that it’s not okay to be myself. I can’t have this, and I can’t do that, and I shouldn’t think the way I do, and I’m just… wrong. Usually, I listen to that voice. I do as I’m told, as I’m expected, and I try to be happy with what I have rather than dwelling on what I _wish_ I had.

But… this is different.

He isn’t something I’m willing to give up. So when it felt as though they were trying to take this away from me, I lashed out. I was just trying to hold on to it, to protect it, I guess. But I’m sure that to Tommy it looked like I went crazy for no real reason and verbally bitch slapped my brothers over nothing.

“I’m sorry.” I blurt out abruptly, bringing an end to the silence that’s been hanging between us since the moment I got into the car.

He glances at me as he drives, a genuine frown on his face. “What for?”

“For what happened on the bus.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t mean to snap like that. I was just…” I sigh, trying to figure out the simplest way to explain myself without word vomiting all over him the way I seem to do every time I talk about my feelings. “I was really happy to see you, and then it felt like they were trying to ruin it or something, and… it pissed me off.”

“It’s okay.” He assures me with a sincere smile. “I get it.”

“And I’m _really_ sorry for how they were all acting, too. I don’t know what the fuck got into them.”

With a soft chuckle, he shakes his head and looks over at me again. “Remember that little talk we had about how you need to stop apologizing for being yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Well you need to stop apologizing for other people, too. ‘Cause you have about as much control over who they are as you do over who you are.”

“I think I’m pretty good at controlling who I am, actually. I should be; I’ve got twenty-seven years of practice.”

“No, you’ve got twenty-seven year of practice at like… being who you _think_ you should be. That’s totally not the same thing.”

“How?” I challenge him with a teasingly raised eyebrow. “If I’m not being myself, then obviously I’m controlling who I really am.”

“Or maybe you just think you are.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it’s still there, isn’t it?” He points out matter-of-factly. “And what happened on the bus was a result of you losing whatever control you think you have over it.”

“Yeah, well… you bring it out in me, I guess.”

“I bring what out in you?”

“Me.”

I can’t be sure, but I think he’s blushing. He turns his face away from mine so that it’s nearly impossible for me to see, but it’s almost as though I can feel it. I can feel the warmth radiating from him, and it chases away all of the remaining stress and strain that has been lingering between us.

“So… where am I going?” He finally asks, chancing a brief look at me.

I have no idea. I don’t really know my way around town, I’ve only been to Portland a handful of times in my whole life. And I had no idea that he was going to be here today, so I didn’t have anything planned. As much as the atmosphere has improved in the last few minutes, I can’t tell if he’s still as interested in hiding out in a hotel room all afternoon as he seemed to be earlier. I know _I_ would be if he was, but I’m not sure how to bring the subject up without flat out asking him.

“Um… I don’t know.” I laugh quietly, uncertainly. “Do you wanna get some lunch, or…”

“Or…?” He prods playfully, and now I know that he’s just trying to make me come right out and say it.

 _Asshole_.

“Or do you need to work up an appetite first?”

Thankfully he finds the question amusing, which means that I don’t have to be completely embarrassed for asking it. He pretends to consider if for a moment, making “hmm” noises and chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. And then he turns to me with a devilish smirk on his face.

“My appetite could use some working up.”

I can’t keep the grin off of my face, so I busy myself with pulling my phone out of my pocket and using it to look up hotels in the area. I don’t care how much it costs or how it looks, I only care that it’s within five minutes drive of here. Because if I don’t get to kiss him within the next five minutes, I’m gonna go crazy.

“Okay…” I wait for the little blue dot of the GPS locator to catch up to where we are on the map, and then I look out of the window to check the name of the cross street we’re approaching. “Take a left on Burnside, it’s about two blocks ahead.”

“As you wish.”

Neither of us speaks again until he’s made the turn, and even then the only thing I say to him is that “it” should be about five blocks up on the right. I can’t bring myself to say “the hotel”, even though we both know that’s exactly where we’re going and we both know why. It just seems too blunt.

When he pulls into the parking lot of the Jupiter Hotel and turns off the engine, I tell him that I’ll be right back, and then I get out of the car and hurry around to the front of the building. From the outside it almost looks like some kind of store, and the inside of the lobby looks more like a hi-tech cyber café or something. It’s empty except for one guy, who perks up instantly at the sight of a prospective guest.

“Hi there! Welcome to the Jupiter Hotel. Checking in?”

“Yeah, I need a room for one night.” I tell him, suddenly wishing I had enough money with me to pay cash so that I won’t have to use my credit card.

I don’t know why, I think I’m just paranoid that he’ll recognize my name. I remember how someone got a hold of a receipt from a restaurant I ate at one time and put a picture of it online. The last thing I need is for this receipt to show up on the net, too, so that our fans can over-analyze the fact that I rented out a hotel room in the middle of the day, in a city that we didn’t even spend the night in.

“Okay.” He cheerfully types away on the computer in front of him before flashing me another over-enthusiastic smile. “Would you prefer one queen size bed or two?”

“One is fine.”

“Alrighty.” I can’t believe he just said used that word. I’d probably be cracking up if I wasn’t so anxious. “That’ll be ninety-nine for the night.”

With clammy hands, I take my wallet out of the pocket of my jeans, and my fingers slip a couple of times as I try to pull my Visa card out and hand it to him. My heart is pounding while I wait for him to run it and give it back to me, praying that he doesn’t look at me with that “where do I know you from?” expression I’m so used to getting from people when they hear or see my name. But luckily he seems oblivious, and he hands my card back to me and places a receipt on the countertop between us for me to sign.

“Your room is going to be just around the side of the building here on the right.” He gestures with one hand as he gives me a key card with the other. “If you need anything, just dial zero on the phone in your room.”

“Thanks.” I smile, practically snatching the card out of his hand and making a beeline for the door.

Tommy is already leaning against the driver’s side of the car when I get back, both of our bags on the ground at his feet, and we share a knowing smile as we pick them up and he follows me to our room. I’ve stayed at a lot of different hotels in my life, from generic Best Westerns in the mid-west to trendy boutique hotels in New York City and Los Angeles, but this place isn’t like any of them. It has the layout of a motel, the décor of a spa… and when I open the door to our room, there’s a floor to ceiling mural of Marilyn Monroe staring at us from across the room.

I don’t know how comfortable I am with Marilyn watching me make out with a guy who’s much prettier than she is.

The rest of the room is decorated to match the mural, in black and white and shades of grey. And any other time, I might take a moment to stop and really appreciate how cool it is, to explore a little and see what it has to offer. But right now, I just don’t care.

I hear Tommy drop his bag on the floor and close the door behind us, and I lower my own backpack to the ground, too. And the second I turn to face him, he starts kissing me. The smile that spreads across my face makes it a little difficult to kiss him back at first, but I can’t get rid of it and I’m not going to let it stand in my way. As we make our way over to the bed in the middle of the room I push his leather jacket off of shoulders, and he drops his hands from my chest just long enough to let it fall to the ground before he’s pushing me backwards again.

“Just for the record,” He tells me between kisses. “I didn’t come here for this.”

I don’t care. “Okay.”

“I’m serious!” He laughs softly as I start pushing his t-shirt up over his chest, forcing him to pull back so that I can lift it over his head. “I just wanted to see you. But…”

“But…?” I question breathlessly, tugging my own t-shirt off quickly before cupping his face in my hands and kissing him hungrily again.

“But then I saw you.”

I can feel him smirking against my lips, and it’s so damn sexy that it just makes me want him even more.

I don’t know _why_ he wants me, though.

I have no idea why he came down here to be with me when he could have gone home with his friends yesterday. When he kissed me the night we met, I chalked it up to the alcohol. But he’s not drunk now, and he wasn’t drunk two weeks ago in Thackerville, and I’m pretty sure that he wasn’t drunk when he texted me last month to ask if I’d be able to meet him in Oklahoma City. He did it because he wanted to, because he wanted _me_. And honestly, I don’t even care why, I’m just too fucking grateful for it. I don’t know what it is he sees in me when it feels like all I’ve shown him is my worst, but whatever it is, I’m glad he sees it. I’m thankful that, out of the countless people I’m sure he could be kissing right now if he wanted to be, he wants to be here kissing me.

I know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be and no one else I’d rather be with.

It’s not long before we’re lying in a tangled, grasping heap on the once flawlessly made bed, our bodies writhing together relentlessly as our hands bump over and over again in a futile attempt to unbutton each other’s pants. Eventually, I get so impatient that I grab his hands and push them away, leaving him laughing softly through our kisses while I make quick work of the buttons and zippers on _both_ our pants.

The second his jeans are undone, I’m pushing them down over his hips, and I can hear him kicking his shoes off so that there are no further obstacles to removing them. He’s so eager for this to happen, I can _feel_ it (and by it, I don’t mean _it_ , although that is a big giveaway also. And by big, I _do_ mean big). It drives me crazy to know that he wants this so much. Again, I don’t know what it is about me that’s so special, why he wants to be with me when he’s never been interested in anything more than kissing another guy before. But I don’t know what it is about him that makes _me_ act this way, either. I don’t know what it is about him that made me cheat on my wife of eight years when I never have before (with the exception of Zac). And whatever this thing is between us, it’s reminded me of how it feels to… _feel_. I didn’t even realize that I’d been walking around numb for so long. I could feel happiness and sadness, sure, but I’d forgotten how it felt to want someone this way, to _crave_ them so badly that I’d ditch all of my responsibilities at a moment’s notice just to spend a couple of hours alone with them. _I_ don’t ditch responsibilities. I live and breathe responsibilities.

But right now, I’m living and breathing _him_ and absolutely nothing else. And it’s incredible _._

His hands fumble with my jeans, pushing them down lower as I lift my hips off of the mattress to help him. I take a cue from him and hurriedly kick my shoes off before he gets far enough into the process of taking my pants off for them to become an issue, and within seconds we’re both down to nothing but our underwear.

I watch through hazy eyes as he crawls back on top of me once again, his body sliding perfectly between my legs until out hips meet, eliciting satisfied groans from both of us. Honestly, if all he wanted to do for the rest of the afternoon was this, I wouldn’t care. Because this feels better than anything has in longer than I can remember, and I don’t need anything else. But after only a minute or two of us gasping and grinding against each other like a couple of horny teenagers on the backseat of a car, his fingers find their way to the waistband of my briefs and begin peeling them off.

It’s only been twelve days since he last touched me, but my body responds so strongly to his hand encircling me that it feels as though it’s been twelve _months_. His lips leave mine, and I open my eyes to find him gazing down at me, taking in the look on my face as I react to what he’s doing to me. I can see the lust in his eyes, and it just turns me on that much more to know that he’s getting off on watching me. I don’t even have to try to put on a show for him, nothing about how I’m feeling right now needs to be faked or exaggerated at all.

My fingers curl into the pillow under my head as my back arches off of the bed, and his mouth automatically falls to my chest and begins trailing fervent kisses across my skin. I feel a wave of heat roll through my body, leaving me shaking and gasping. We’ve barely even started and I’m already burning up, so God knows how I’m supposed to get through this without bursting into flames! Who cares, though? If I spontaneously combust, I spontaneously combust. But no way in hell am I stopping.

As his lips venture lower, my breathing and heart rate increase even more, until it feels as though the whole room is whirling around me in a black and white blur. Even with my eyes closed, I have the sensation of spinning out of control. I feel detached from everything but him, separated from the rest of the world, tumbling into oblivion. I feel free.

My whole body jerks instinctively when I feel his warm mouth surround me, his tongue slowly swirling around the tip of my erection. He takes his time, and as his lips drag effortlessly down the length of me, I can’t help but open my eyes to watch him. The sight of him is nearly enough to make me lose it. His hair hangs in a messy curtain across most of his face, but from the little of it I can see, he looks absolutely content. His darkly lined eyelids are lying softly against his faintly hollowed cheeks, his wet lips molded tenderly around me as they glide over my skin. Even without the faint sounds of pleasure he’s making every few seconds, I’d still be able to tell that he’s enjoying what he’s doing almost as much as I am.

I tangle my fingers in his hair as his mouth begins to move a little faster, and I hear myself moaning with almost every exhaled breath that passes my lips. If he keeps this up, I’m not going to last another minute. And as amazing as this feels, I not ready for it to be over yet. When I try to coax him back up into a kiss, he resists, sucking more insistently and momentarily rendering me incapable of doing anything beside bucking against his lips and murmuring expletives under my breath. And somewhere between “oh God” and “ _please_ ”, I hear two words leave my mouth that I hadn’t intended to say.

“Fuck me.”

 _That_ stops him.

He gazes up at me in speechless surprise, and the way his pink lips are parted in shock is somehow so hot that it makes me glad I said what I did. I may not have meant to say it, but I _definitely_ want him to do it.

“Are you serious?” He finally asks me, shifting back up to the head of the bed so that we’re face to face once again.

Instead of simply saying “yes” or nodding, I pull him into a fiery kiss. If this doesn’t convince him, nothing I say or do will. And judging by the way he responds, he’s not only convinced, but the feeling is very much mutual. His lips never leave mine as I push and tug on his underwear, fumbling to remove them without him having to move any further away from me than he already is.

The realization that this is the first time there’s be absolutely _nothing_ between us hits me as soon as his body settles against mine again. There’s nothing but skin on skin. Just the thought of it makes me moan as he moves against me, kissing and nipping seductively at my neck. I can’t stop thinking about how incredible it’ll feel to have him inside me, and the more I imagine it, the more impatiently my hips rock and grind against his.

The last thing I want to do right now is call a time out, but I know I need to.

“Hold that thought.” I tell him apologetically, kissing his pouting lips before getting off of the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

My silent prayers are answered when I ransack the basket of perfectly organized toiletries sitting on the pristine, white vanity and find a small bottle of body lotion. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. Tommy frowns at me as I make my way back over to the bed, but I merely smirk in response, climbing onto the mattress with him and kissing him passionately. He tries to pry the plastic bottle out of my hand, but I hold onto it tightly, moving it out of his grasp again and again while he whines in protest.

“Lemme see!”

I smile playfully, shaking my head at him as he pushes me onto my back and crawls on top of me. “Make me.”

His lips descend on mine demandingly, the kiss so overpowering that it takes me completely by surprise. My tongue tries to keep up with his, but my focus is so split between what his mouth is doing and what his hand is doing, I can’t fend off either assault effectively. Eventually he manages to wrestle the lotion away from me, and as soon as he does, he stops kissing me and devotes his attention on reading the label instead. He’s not stupid, he doesn’t need to ask what it’s for, and the small smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth when he looks down at me makes it clear.

“How do you wanna do this?” He asks somewhat confidently, but I can tell that there are nerves beneath the obvious anticipation.

“Just touch me.” I tell him quietly, taking the lotion from him before guiding his hand back to my erection.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and his fingers begin to stroke me easily as his lips find mine again. I give myself a moment or two to enjoy the feelings that race through me as a result of what he’s doing to me, allowing them to take me over, then I unscrew the lid on the bottle in my hand, squeezing a little of it onto my index finger before placing it on the nightstand beside the bed. It’s been a while since I’ve done this to myself, but considering the fact that this is the first time he’s _ever_ slept with a guy, I think it’s better not to ask him to do it. He already went down on me, which was another first for him. That’s probably more than enough firsts for one day.

But when I slip my hand past his, between my legs, he slowly stops kissing me to watch what I’m doing. Rather than seeming uncomfortable with it or weirded out by it, he looks fascinated. Maybe even turned on. As I carefully slide one finger into myself, sucking in a shuddering breath and biting into my lower lip, his hand squeezes me a little tighter. Seeing his reaction to what I’m doing is quite possibly hotter than what he’s doing to me himself. And the two feelings combined are better than anything I’ve experienced in way, _way_ too long. A breathy moan escapes me when I press a second digit in, and he hisses an enthralled “ _fuck_ ” as his hand continues to move faster with every passing second.

I can’t handle much more. I want this to happen, and I want it to happen _now_. After quickly wiping the remaining lotion off of my fingers, I retrieve the bottle and pour a decent amount of it into my palm before reaching over and wrapping my hand around him. He kisses me hard, bucking against me and groaning as he shifts on top of me and comes to rest between my legs.

He pauses unexpectedly, his eyes meeting mine as he seems to struggle to find the words to say whatever it is he’s thinking. “I… do we need a condom?”

As far as I’m concerned, we don’t. I know that he’s not at risk of getting anything from me, and I trust him enough that I don’t believe he’d be doing this if he thought for a second that he couldn’t say the same. “Not unless you think we do.”

He understands what I’m asking, even though I didn’t phrase it as a question, and when he leans down and presses his lips to mine once again, I have my answer.

How I imagined it would feel when he pushed into me is nothing compared to how it actually feels. In fact, we’re both so consumed by it that we have to stop and remember how to breathe. He looks so fucking beautiful right now, and I fight to get my mind to focus properly on his face so that I can commit every detailed of his awed expression to memory. I can tell he’s never felt anything like this before, that he barely knows what to do with the sensations that have just flooded his body, and to know that I’m the cause of the look in his eyes… there’s no word to describe it.

I lift my hips towards his, urging him to go deeper, and he gasps as he continues to slide into me until I’m surrounding him completely. He’s breathless and trembling above me, but he does his best to move with me, slowly picking up the pace of his thrusts to match the motion of my hand as his body tries to handle what he’s feeling. It takes us a minute to find our rhythm, each of us adjusting to the other, but once we do it’s sheer bliss for both of us.

There’s no need for me to tell him what to do, or make a point of letting him know what feels good for me, he seems to figure it out on his own faster than I ever expected. I’m not sure how, but it’s like he’s reading my mind, and it’s something I’m not used to at all. Not that I’ve never had great sex before, but no one I’ve been with has _ever_ been as tuned into what I’m feeling as he appears to be right now. Natalie mostly makes me do all the work, one way or another. And Zac tends to be pretty selfish in bed. Even when he’s trying to get me off, it usually feels more like it’s for _his_ benefit somehow. Alex was always a wildcard, entirely unpredictable and only concerned with feeling as good as he could. Which was fine by me, as long as he took me along for the ride.

But Tommy…

He pays attention to every sound I make, every grasp of my fingertips against his arms and shoulders, every arch of my back. And whatever he did to cause it, he does over and over again. Even as things begin to unravel between us, everything he does is deliberate and intended only to make me feel better than I already do.

“Oh God… I’m _so_ close.” I gasp, wishing that I wasn’t so that this could go on indefinitely. But I know he’s just as close as I am, and hearing me say it only brings him closer.

“Me too.” He admits weakly, his shuddering breaths mingling with mine as we hopelessly try to keep kissing each other. “ _Fuck_ … Taylor…”

I know he’s about to come, and I can also tell that he’s worried he shouldn’t. At least not until he’s pulled out of me. But before he has the chance to find the self-control to do so, I wrap my legs around him, holding him against me as his body tenses and he lets go. The sound and the sensation of him climaxing is indescribably intense, and it’s all it takes to leave me moaning and crying out his name as my own orgasm finally hits me. I hold onto the feeling as tightly as I hold onto him, wishing it could go on and on and on, even once we both reach the point where our bodies literally cannot handle any more.

His shaking arms almost give out under him as he finally allows his tired body to all but collapse onto mine. But he hovers above me for a moment longer, nudging the tip of my nose with his own before placing a lingering kiss to my lips.

And with only a look, he lets me know that this was something much more to him than just a casual fuck between two friends.

 


	12. Chapter 12

  


 

 

It’s never taken me this long to catch my breath after sex before. In fact, it’s never taken me this long to catch my breath after _anything_ before. My heart is still racing, and my head is still spinning, and I’m sticky and sweaty…

And quite honestly, I don’t care. I feel amazing.

“That was…” He turns his head to the side to look me in the eyes, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. “It was… I mean, like… _fuck_! You know?”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” I chuckle softly as I run my hands through my hair and close my eyes contently. “I haven’t felt this good in…” I don’t even remember. Last time we were together was pretty amazing, but not on par with what we just did. “A _very_ long time, let’s leave it at that.”

“Well, I’m not sure I’ve _ever_ felt this good.” He counters smugly, reaching over to grab the box of Kleenex in its shiny chrome holder from the nightstand. “That was like… dropping E and downing a fifth of Jack. While skydiving.”

“Wow.”

“ _Naked_.”

I was already laughing quietly to myself, but as soon as he makes that little amendment, I almost choke. “I think that would probably kill you.”

“It almost did!” He informs me playfully as I grab a handful of tissues from the box. “I can’t believe no one warned me. I practically live with a bunch of gay guys, you’d think one of them would be like ‘hey, Tommy, having sex with a guy might _kill_ you!’”

“Maybe they didn’t think you’d do it.”

“Trust me, they did. The amount of flak they gave me when I said I was coming down here was like… unprecedented. And we _live_ to give each other flak.”

“That must have been fun.”

“ _So_ much fun.” He smirks at me, throwing his used Kleenex over the edge of the bed before rolling onto his side to face me. “Sutan even tried to put some lube in my backpack last night, ‘just in case’.”

My eyebrow quirks in curiosity.“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I guess I probably shoulda let him, huh?”

“I think we improvised pretty well.”

“Well, _I_ have no complaints.”

A pleased sigh drifts from my mouth as he shifts towards me and captures my lips with his own. The kiss is slow and soft, but there’s a lingering spark of passion behind it. It’s the knowledge that, if we weren’t both completely spent and exhausted right now, this would definitely become something more. Just because our bodies are incapable of doing anything about it right now, that doesn’t diminish the fact that we both still clearly want each other.

“Where were you ten years ago?” I muse aloud, trying not to let my good mood suffer from thoughts of how differently my life could have gone if we’d only met sooner. And when I see him pretending to seriously consider the question, I can’t help but smile and roll my eyes at him. “It was a rhetorical question, dork.”

He smirks down at me, his gaze drifting to my lips for a moment before he meets my stare again. “Good, because I have no fucking clue where I was or what I was doing. Which probably means it’s either not worth remembering or it’s best left forgotten.”

“Yeah, well, almost exactly ten years ago I was meeting my wife.”

“That’s so crazy. You were only like… seventeen back then.” After taking a moment to absorb that fact, he shakes his head slowly. “I keep forgetting you got married before you turned twenty.”

“I wish it was you I’d met that day instead.” I tell him honestly, hoping that such a serious declaration doesn’t totally freak him out.

Luckily, he just smiles playfully at me and leans down to lightly kiss the side of my neck. “No you don’t. Ten years ago I probably wouldn’t have given you the time of day.”

“Oh, no?”

“Nope. I was _way_ too hardcore and bad ass to be friends with someone who’d appeared on the cover of Tiger Beat. I mean, _ew_.”

“But you’re not hardcore _or_ bad ass anymore.” I smirk teasingly, pushing him onto his back and rolling on top of him. “I guess that’s what you get for wearing makeup, huh?”

His mouth falls open in exaggerated indignation, but when my lips descend on his he doesn’t even attempt to resist kissing me back. He does, however, try to wrestle me off of him and onto my back so that he can reclaim control of things, and after making him fight for it for a moment, I finally give in and let him pin me to the mattress. He grins down at me triumphantly, his hair falling across his face and forcing him to release one of my wrists from his grasp for a couple of seconds so that he can reach up and tuck it behind his ear. By that point, I’ve been completely distracted from the situation by the tattoos on his left forearm, and my free hand slowly reaches across to trace the lines of the familiar face inked into his skin.

I saw his tattoos the last time we were in a hotel room together, but I never got a chance to really look at them and find out what they were of. And now that I’m paying attention, I can see that most of them are famous movie characters. Right now my fingertip is trailing along the edge of Jason Voorhees’ hockey mask, which is something I never thought it’d be doing. Jason is flanked by Freddy Kruger and Michael Myers, and as my eyes slowly travel up the length of his arm, I see that they’re joined by Dracula and that pea-soup-spewing girl from ‘The Exorcist’.

I’m sensing a pattern here.

“You like horror movies?” I ask knowingly, looking up at him to find his eyes carefully studying my finger as it outlines his tattoos.

“I like pretty much all movie genres, as long as the movie is good.” He amends with a smile, his face turning towards mine again. “But yeah, I have a thing for horror movies.”

I’m not big on tattoos, really. When I was younger I thought about getting one, but I never did, and I’ve always been glad that I wasn’t impulsive about it and wound up getting something that I regretted having on my body for the rest of my life. And as much as I tend to dislike tattoos in general, I find “sleeve” tattoos even less attractive. But apparently I find anything attractive on him, because despite my less than luke warm feelings for sleeve tattoos (not to mention horror movies), I’m finding his incredibly sexy.

The urge that takes me over comes out of nowhere, and he seems understandably confused as I slip out from under him and climb off of the mattress to pick my bag up from off of the floor where I left it. He chuckles softly in amusement, watching me with a frown as I bring it back over to the bed.

“What’re you doing?”

I unzip the bag quickly, rooting around inside it until my hand closes around the new (well, it’s new to me, but technically it’s twenty years old) camera I bought in Los Angeles last week. Without a word, I pull the Nikon F4 out of its case and turn it on. I haven’t taken any pictures with it yet, I was saving it for something I was really inspired by. And I just found that something.

But Tommy realizes what I’m planning to do the moment I look up at him, and he’s already shaking his head at me like I’m insane before I can even take the lens cap off.

“No way!”

“Why?” I pout at him pathetically as he grabs the pillow beside him and covers his head with it. “Come on!”

“No!”

“Just let me take a couple of pictures of your tattoos!”

He still refuses to take the pillow off of his head, but I don’t really need him to in order for me to get the picture I want. His arm is holding the pillow steadfastly in place, and it’s providing me with a perfect shot. I raise the camera back to my eye, shifting a little until I find a good angle, and then I focus carefully on his tattoo of Michael Myers.

The second he hears the click of the photograph being taken, he instinctively flinches and pulls his head out from under the pillow to see if I really just did what he suspects I did. His hair is a complete mess now, and the outraged expression on his face is priceless. So before he has a chance to hide again, I advance the film in the camera and take a picture of him.

“Hey!”

“I’m doing this no matter what you say. If you don’t cooperate and unleash the inner glamour model we both _know_ you possess deep down inside, I’m gonna end up with a bunch of blurry shots of you with your head under a pillow.”

He shoots me a playful glare before stuffing his head back under the pillow in defiance, and I snort as I reach out and struggle to take the damn thing away from him. It’s not easy to get it out of his grip, especially when I only have one hand free and he’s using both of his to hold it in place. In fact, it’s impossible. So I give up on that tactic and start tickling him instead.

“Fuck you!” He cries out through his laughter, pulling the pillow away from his head and using it to swat me with.

“Pose for me and I might let you.” I taunt smugly, attempting to block his attack with my non-camera wielding hand as I climb on top of him.

“ _Why_ do you wanna take pictures of me anyway?” He whines pathetically, before muttering “fucking creeper” loud enough that he knows I’ll hear it.

And I punish him for that remark by taking another unflattering picture of him rather than answering the question.

The truth is, I want to take pictures of him because he’s beautiful. It’s as simple as that. He’s the most stunning thing I’ve seen in longer than I can remember, and even though I really did just want to take a few pictures of his tattoos when I first got my camera out, now all I can think about is using up this entire roll of film on him. His eyes, his hair, his lips, his face, his piercings, his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his hands, his fingers…

I started taking pictures as a way of documenting moments in my life that matter to me for whatever reason, whether it’s significant to anyone else or not. And I want to remember this moment. I want to remember exactly what he looks like right now, lying here with me on this hotel bed.

But I can’t tell _him_ that, because he’ll probably think I’m even crazier than he already does. So instead, I continue taking random pictures of him. Until _finally_ he concedes, heaving a deep sigh of defeat before throwing the pillow aside and running his hand thought his unkempt hair to sweep it back into place. He bats his eyelashes at me and pouts, offering me the most overly sexual expression he can come up with, probably thinking that I’ll give up when I realize that he’s not going to take this seriously. But I don’t. I take the picture, and he immediately strikes another ridiculous pose for me. He continues trying to make it impossible for me to get a good picture of him for another couple of shots, but then he seems to run out of silly faces to make at me. And when I take a candid picture of him in the brief moment where he isn’t pouting at me or biting the tip of his finger like a playboy centerfold, he suddenly becomes very shy again.

Without his pillow to hide under, he has to use his hands to cover his face, but that’s fine because I love his hands, too. I take couple of shots of them, then I pause until he parts his fingers slightly to peek out at me.

And then I take another.

He eventually lowers his hands, struggling to stop himself from laughing or even smiling as he looks up at me, staring right into the camera lens and allowing me to take a proper picture of him. The light blush remains on his cheeks for a while after that, though, making it clear that he still feels self-conscious. Which is insane, because he has absolutely _nothing_ to be self-conscious about! He was born to be photographed, he’s fucking _flawless_ , and if I could stay here all afternoon and do nothing but take pictures of him, I would.

I’ve never been turned on by taking someone’s photograph before, but as our little impromptu photo shoot continues, I realize that’s exactly what’s happening to me. I don’t know whether it’s the way our bare bodies are moving against each other as I constantly adjust my position on top of him to get a different angle, or the looks he’s giving me through the camera lens, but every picture I take is leaving me a little more breathless than the last. My shots start out slow and precise, but one by one, they become more careless. The sound of the shutter opening and closing is almost constant as I take photo after photo in near immediate succession. And by the time I get to the last picture on the roll, we’re both hard again, and I’m more than ready to take him up on the suggestive look he’s had in his eyes for the past five minutes.

He has more confidence this time than he did last time, he knows what to expect now, and he takes control without hesitation. I don’t have to ask him to get the lotion from the nightstand, he does it without me needing to say a word. But he doesn’t give it to me to use once he has it in his hand, he does it for me, which is so much of a turn on that I’m practically begging him for more before he’s even really started.

I can’t get enough of watching him, and the sound he makes as I lower myself onto him is possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. He stares up at me, his lips parting to allow a soft gasp of desire to escape before his teeth claim his lower lip and hold it captive. His hands grasp at my waist, then my hips, then my thighs, and then his palms are splayed across my stomach and impatiently travelling up to my chest. It’s like he can’t decide where to touch me, he wants to feel all of me at once.

It’s crazy to me that he can make me feel more wanted with a single moan than a thousand girls screaming my name as I stand center stage beneath a spotlight can. I’ve been told for half my life that I’m beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, hot, even “perfect”, but it never feels as true as it does when he looks at me the way he’s looking at me right now.

I’m pretty sure that there’s very little chance I’m going to be able to get off again so soon after the last time, but no way in hell is that going to stop me from trying. After all, it’s the journey that counts, not the destination. And this journey is _in-fucking-credible_. One minute we’re out of control, it seems as though we couldn’t stop even if we wanted to. But eventually everything slows down as our bodies reluctantly give in to their limitations, fighting for breath and renewed energy, impatiently waiting until we’ve recovered enough to carry on. And the moment we have what we need, it all begins to careen out of control once again.

The cycle continues relentlessly, until I finally feel the orgasm I didn’t think I’d find closing in on me. It comes out of nowhere, taking me over suddenly and leaving my dizzy mind spinning so fast that for a second I swear I’m going to black out. His body slows as mine gradually ceases shaking, and I know without asking that he’s given up on finding his own release. But as exhausted as we both are, I’m not about to leave him unsatisfied, even if he seems anything but right now.

As he carefully slips out of me, kissing me breathlessly and collapsing on the bed beside me, I reach over to the nightstand and grab the almost empty bottle of lotion. He’s too busy gasping for air and pushing his sweat dampened hair out of his face to notice what I’m doing, until I roll over to face him and begin kissing him hungrily again.

“I’m not done yet.” I inform him teasingly, and he laughs tiredly as he shakes his head.

“No…” He insists, pretending to push me away with a weak shove. “Go, save yourself! There’s no hope for me.”

“There’s always hope.”

He continues to chuckle against my lips as I kiss him again, my hand slipping temptingly down his chest and across his stomach, until my fingers brush lightly over his erection. A shuddering gasp cuts his amusement short, and his hips instinctively buck towards my touch as my hand closes around him and begins to stroke.

“It’s not gonna happen.” He tries to warn me, his tone almost apologetic. “Don’t get me wrong, I totally appreciate the effort, but I- oh _fuck_! I just don’t think I’m physically capable of it.”

“If I am, you are.” I assure him, my lips travelling along his jaw line and settling at his neck. “Just trust me.”

He breathes a soft sigh, letting himself relax and giving himself over to my attempts to make him feel as good as he made me feel. I just hope that what I’m about to do isn’t something he’s not ready for yet.

My hand releases him, reaching over and guiding his own hand back to his erection as I silently encourage him to touch himself. He does so willingly, his back arching slightly as he closes his eyes and sucks in a slow, shaky breath. I can’t decide whether or not it’s better that he’s oblivious to what I’m doing while I pour the remaining lotion onto the fingertips of my right hand and return my lips to his neck.

This is either going to make him feel amazing or scare the hell out of him.

I feel him tense a little as my hand slips past his, venturing even lower before my fingers begin to explore him, rubbing and stroking against him. But it’s only a couple of seconds before he’s whimpering imploringly, shifting his body towards my hand. I take his apparent eagerness as a sign that he wants me to take things further, and I gently press the tip of my finger into him, giving him the chance to pull away if he decides this isn’t what he wants after all. But his reaction is the opposite, and goose bumps rise all over my bare skin at the sound of his fervent moans.

“More…” He pleads desperately, meeting my eyes as I raise my head to look down at his face.

His cheeks are lightly flushed, his eyes heavily lidded, and as I slide my finger deeper into him, his teeth sink into his lower lip and he whines needily. He’s breathtaking. Each time I slowly draw my finger back and press it into him again, he makes another noise that causes my skin to tingle, and it isn’t long before his body is anticipating and meeting each thrust of my hand. The first time I curl my finger a little, his body jerks involuntarily, and his hand grasps my wrist tightly. For a moment I worry that it didn’t feel as good for him as I intended it to, but when he pants for me to do it again, that concern evaporates entirely.

With renewed certainty that he wants this, I comply with his demands and repeat my previous actions. Over and over again, leaving him writhing uncontrollably and begging me for more. Watching him come is such a turn on that I almost feel guilty. This was supposed to be about making him feel good, but it’s impossible for me to see and hear and _feel_ what I’m doing to him and _not_ react to it at all. I’m only human!

My lips caress the feverish skin of his chest, slowly venturing lower as I take my time licking and kissing him clean. He smiles down at me drowsily, his eyes lazily following my every move, which of course results in me dragging the entire process out even longer. What can I say? I’m a born performer.

“I swear I just had a stroke or something.” He smirks raking his fingers through his hair while I kiss my way back up to his lips. “A really fucking _amazing_ stroke.”

“Well, I’m glad you survived it.”

“Barely.”

We lay side by side on the bed, staring up at the ceiling above us and taking a well earned break from driving each other wild. And the longer I lie here, the more I realize that, as sated as I am, there’s still something else my body is craving right now. In fact, it’s not just a craving it’s a full blown need.

“How’s that appetite coming along?” I ask him, turning my head to the side and watching as a devilish smile curls his lips.

“I’d say it’s well and truly worked up.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

  


 

 

I think this is the first time in my life that I’ve ever wished that I _didn’t_ have a show to play. I love performing. Some people might get sick of it, playing the same songs night after night, but as long as I get to play at all, I just don’t care. There’s nothing like the feeling of being on stage and seeing all of those faces (some of them a little _too_ familiar) staring back at you, singing your songs.

Or there wasn’t before, at least.

Right now, I’d trade that high in for this one without hesitation.

“Should we be getting back?” Tommy asks lazily, breaking the comfortable silence that we’ve been enjoying for what feels like hours now. The answer is yes, but I don’t want to say it out loud, and when I turn my head to the side to look at him, I can tell from the small smile on his face that he already knows. “It was fun while it lasted.”

“It was.”

He pushes himself up onto his elbows on the mattress, looking around the room for something. “I forget where my pants went.”

I didn’t think I was going to find anything to smile about anytime soon, but thanks to him, I’m grinning like an idiot. “If I remember correctly, I think you lost them somewhere between the door and the bed.”

“Right. Makes sense.”

My eyes follow him as he shifts himself off of the mattress and goes in search of his clothes. It’s probably a bad idea to watch him like this, because it just makes me want to reach out and pull him back under the sheets with me. As if he’s reading my mind, he glances at me over his shoulder and smirks before picking my shirt up off of the floor and throwing it at me. It lands on my head, blocking the view I was enjoying so much, and by the time I’ve reached up and pulled it away from my face, he’s putting his underwear on.

“So where do you wanna go to get lunch?” He asks, gathering the rest of my clothes up and dropping them on the bed beside me before pulling his pants on. “I wasn’t exactly paying attention to what was out there on the drive over.”

“Me either.” I smile knowingly, remembering how wrapped up we both were in finding a hotel as fast as possible. “I’m hungry enough that I could eat just about anything right now. I guess we can head back to the venue and see if there’s anything along the way?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

It is a plan, it’s just not my preferred one. I’d rather go back to the drawing board and come up with something better, something that involves him taking his pants back off and us getting back into bed and staying here indefinitely. My brothers can find another piano player, and Adam can find another bass player. No one will miss us!

 _Damnit_.

Just as he reaches out to open the door so that we can leave, I grab the sleeve of his jacket and pull him back towards me. He smiles at me questioningly, but before he can ask me what I’m doing, his mouth is too occupied with mine for him to speak. I’m not sure when I’m going to get to kiss him again once we walk out of this room. I _hope_ that I’ll get to at least kiss him goodbye before he leaves for the airport this evening, but I don’t know for sure that I will. And I don’t know when I’ll see him again once he’s gone. So I’m treating this kiss as our last for who knows how long, and I can tell from the way that he’s kissing me back just as urgently that he’s doing the same.

“Are you trying to get me back into bed?” He smirks against my lips, not giving me chance to answer before kissing me again.

“If I was, would it work?”

With a soft chuckle, he shakes his head at me, dodging my lips when I lean in again. “I need to eat.”

“How about you get back in bed and I’ll go forage for food?”

“And what about sound check and your meet and greet?” He asks with a quirked eyebrow. “I don’t think your brothers are gonna be too happy if you’re a no show.”

“They’ll get over it.” They probably wouldn’t, actually, they’d hold it against me for all eternity. But right now I really don’t care. “I’d rather stay here.”

“Me too.” I smile triumphantly, leaning in to capture his lips once again. But he places his hands against my chest and reluctantly pushes me back. “But we should go while I still have enough self-control to say it.”

“Wait… _you_ have self-control?”

He glares at me playfully before giving me a small shove and turning around to open the door. “I have way more self-control than you, asshole.”

“Right, totally. Hey, remind me again who kissed who in some random New York bar…?” I argue as I follow him out into the bright September sun.

“Dude, don’t _even_ get me started! The words ‘dressing room’ mean anything to you?”

We continue to tease and mock each other all the way back to the car, and for at least half of the trip over to the Wendy’s a few blocks away from the venue. I love how comfortable I am around him, and vice versa. When I think about the fact that this is only the third day we’ve ever spent together in person, and we’ve only been in daily contact for two weeks now, it amazes me how easy the back and forth between us is. It’s as if we’ve been doing this for years, like we’re old friends who know everything about each other. And at the same time, whatever this thing between us is, it’s so new. I _don’t_ know everything about him, and despite me over-sharing with him on several occasions now, he doesn’t know everything about me, either. The excitement that comes with any new relationship is still lingering between us constantly. It’s like having the best of both worlds. I’ve never felt that with anyone else before. It’s always either one or the other, but not both.

As we pull up to the venue, and the security guard moves aside the cones blocking off the parking spaces next to the tour bus, a sense of dread settles over me. I really don’t want him to leave, but I also don’t want to subject him to more silent scrutiny from my brothers and crew. I’m hoping that whatever issue they all had with him earlier will magically be gone when we walk into that theater, but I’m not gonna hold my breath.

We each grab a couple of the bags full of food we picked up at the Wendy’s drive-thru, and I lead him into the venue. He rolls his eyes at me when I start apologizing in advance for anything that might be about to happen when we come face to face with my band mates again (especially Zac, though I don’t tell Tommy that). Apparently he has more faith in them than I do. Either that or he doesn’t give a shit what they say to him or how they act. I wish I felt as neutral about it as he appears to.

Muff is the first to notice us as we approach the stage, and he eyes Tommy warily for a moment before offering us both a nod of acknowledgement. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.” I smile tightly, holding up one of the bags I’m carrying. “Want some fries?”

“Fuck _yes_.” He exclaims, abandoning the guitar he was tuning and holding his hand out to me eagerly.

I’ve barely finished digging a bag of French fries out for him before our tour manager comes up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder. “You got a Baconator in there?”

“No.” I reply bluntly, trying to keep the smirk off of my lips as his hungry eyes flit over to the bags in Tommy’s hands.

“How about you?”

Tommy gives a non-committal shrug. “Maybe…”

“Dibs!”

When Tommy suggested that we get lunch for everyone else as well as ourselves, I was still too pissed off at their behavior to see the point. I didn’t think they deserved burgers and fries, as much as I knew they’d want them. But he was right. As soon as everyone in the room picks up on the fact that we’ve bought food for them, they slowly stop what they’re doing and come over to sniff around like a pack of ravenous dogs. Within minutes, we’re all passing out various kinds of fast food and napkins, and the only person who isn’t talking or smiling _at all_ is Zac (although he is still eating, because Zac would come out of a freaking coma for Wendy’s).

I hate to admit it, but I feel bad for him. I know he probably thinks I’m doing this to make him miserable, but I’m not at all. My relationship with Tommy has nothing to do with Zac. But I know that if the tables were turned, I’d feel like shit, too. I don’t know what he expects me to do about that now, though. I can’t change things just to suit him. I can’t switch off the way I feel for Tommy and switch my feelings for him back on, it doesn’t work that way. Things are the way they are, and what he and I had is over. I know it’s easy for me to say it, because I’m not the one who got ‘dumped’, but the way I see it we can either accept things and move on, or mope and make everything more difficult than it has to be.

Apparently he’s decided to go with the latter.

On the bright side, De, Will, and a couple of our roadies actually make an effort to chat with Tommy and find out a little bit about him while they eat. I pretend not to be paying attention while he tells them about working with Adam and how he’s just finishing up his first US tour, but really there’s no way I can keep my focus on anything else. It’s a relief to hear them making cheerful conversation with him, laughing and sharing anecdotes from the road. I was so afraid that we’d walk in here to nothing but stares and silence. For once in my life I’m glad to be proved wrong.

Once everyone is finished eating and has started to drift back to work, Tommy follows me up to the side of the stage (even though he protests at first and insists that he can just hang out on the main floor). I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t nervous about him watching me perform. It’s only sound check, and I never put anywhere near as much effort into this as I do when I’m performing for real, but I can’t decide if that makes me more or less anxious. This is usually an extremely low pressure part of my day, but with his eyes on me I feel nothing but pressure to sing and play better than I ever have.

“It looked like ‘Crazy Beautiful’ was gonna win the set list vote when I checked earlier, so we should probably run through that real quick.” Ike suggests, strumming his guitar as he adjusts the tuners precisely.

I can tell from the look on his face that he didn’t choose that song just to make my life more difficult, but Ike being Ike, that’s exactly what he’s managed to do. Of all the songs he could have picked to sound check, he had to go and chose that one. I don’t care if our fans voted for it, we don’t always sound check the winning encore song. But of course, because Tommy is standing at the side of the stage watching me, we have to run through a song that depends heavily on my vocals and my piano playing.

For the entirety of the first verse, I keep my eyes trained on the keys and resist the strong urge I have to look up at him and see whether or not he’s enjoying the performance. I might be imagining it, but I swear I can _feel_ him watching me right now, and it’s making my fingertips so clammy that they’re slipping on the keys. It’s ridiculous, because I hardly ever get nervous on stage anymore. I’ve been doing this for almost my entire life! I can sing in front of thousands of fans or just a handful of musicians I respect, and my heart never beats as fast as it’s beating right now.

Finally, as I finish the chorus, I lose control of where I’m looking, and my eyes rise to glance at the side of the stage. I was right about him watching me, but I can’t tell just by looking at him whether or not he thinks I’m any good. His arms are folded across his chest, his head tilted a little to the side in concentration, and his lips are set in a soft, unreadable line. But when we begin the second chorus, I notice the corner of his mouth twitch, and a moment later he starts to smile as our eyes meet.

“ _Listen, all I need is you_

_Won’t you tell me what to do?_

_‘Cause you drive me crazy_

_Baby, is it pullin’ on your heart?_

_Is it tearing you apart?_

_‘Cause you drive me crazy_

_‘Cause you’re crazy beautiful_

_‘Cause you’re crazy beautiful_

_Don’t go lookin’ in my eyes tonight,_

_Don’t go tellin’ me lies tonight,_

_Don’t go promisin’ the skies tonight,_

_When you’re crazy_

_‘Cause you’re crazy beautiful_

_‘Cause you’re crazy beautiful_

_‘Cause you’re crazy beautiful._ ”

 

It may have taken close to a decade, but I think I finally know who I’ve been waiting to sing this song to since the day I wrote it.

 

But before I really have a chance to enjoy the look on his face and the feelings that are very quickly multiplying in my chest, the drum beat abruptly stops. Ike notices its absence before I do, because he doesn’t have a pretty boy to stare at and distract him. And once the guitar falters, I finally stop playing and force myself to turn around and see what’s going on. Apparently Zac is done sound checking this song, because he’s sitting behind his drum kit with his iPhone in his hands, pretending to be oblivious to the dumbfounded stares that everyone on stage is giving him.

 

“What the hell, man?” Ike frowns at him.

 

“I got a text.” Mutters Zac in response, still refusing to look up from his phone.

 

“ _So_?” I throw my hands up in disbelief. “You couldn’t have waited two minutes to answer it?”

  
“Apparently not.”

 

Fuck.

 

I _hate_ it when he gets like this. I want to sympathize with him, I honestly do. I know this is a shitty situation and he’s mad at me, and jealous, and probably feeling threatened by Tommy’s presence. But when he starts acting like he’s eleven years old all over again, it makes it difficult to stay patient with him. In fact, his eleven year old self never would have acted _this_ unprofessional and bratty!

 

With a sigh, I turn away from him, hitting a few random keys on my piano in a slightly more aggressive way than usual. “Whatever.”

 

I’m actually too embarrassed to even look Tommy in the eyes right now. First it was the awkward staring and silence on the bus this morning, and now it’s my younger brother acting like a spoiled child. When I think back to how welcoming and laid back everyone he worked with was when I went down to Thackerville, it makes me ashamed that I’m not able to offer him the same. I got handshakes and friendly questions, he gets sideways glances and barely a word said to him.

 

“Dude, that’s a _sick_ axe.”

 

When I look up at the sound of his voice, I see him walking past me and over to Isaac, who has just accepted his custom made guitar from Muff. At the mention of his ‘baby’, Ike’s face lights up instantly, and he gazes down at it proudly.

 

“You think so? I had it made last year.”

 

“Is it a Firebird?”

 

“Not exactly.” Ike smiles almost smugly as the two of them fawn over it like it’s the most amazing thing in the world. “I kinda designed it to be _like_ a Firebird, but it has a lot of modifications.”

 

Tommy nods approvingly, running his fingertips over the smooth finish of the guitars body. “It’s a really sweet design.”

 

“Thanks! It took months of back and forth to get it just how I wanted it, but I was really happy with how it turned out.”

 

“Yeah, I bet.”

 

“You wanna try it out?”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

For the first time all day Zac and I appear to be feeling the same emotion, and that emotion is shock. For one, brief moment, we glance over at each other with looks of complete incredulity on our faces as our older brother passes one of his most prized possessions over to someone he barely knows.

 

He hardly even lets _us_ hold that damn thing most days!

 

Tommy lifts the strap carefully over his head, letting it rest comfortably across his shoulder as he takes the neck of the guitar in one hand and accepts a pick from Ike. It feels as though everyone on stage is watching him, waiting to see if he’s actually any good. And I realize that this is the first time I’ve seen him play guitar and not bass. I have no idea what it’s going to sound like, and suddenly I find myself holding my breath in anticipation.

 

He gives the strings a quick strum, like someone who has never played a guitar before might when they’re handed one for the first time and don’t know what to do with it. I actually _hear_ Zac snort, and I really wanna go over to his drum riser and stuff a drumstick up his nose. But as soon as Tommy begins playing, I find myself unable to move.

 

He’s good.

 

He’s _really_ good.

 

I mean, not that I’m surprised, because I’ve seen him play bass before and he’s obviously talented. And I know that he was playing guitar long before he ever picked up a bass, so any skill he has on bass is probably half of what he has on guitar, but… _wow_. I’ve been playing guitar for a while now, but I _know_ I can’t play anywhere near as well as he can. And Ike and De have both been playing guitar for half their lives, but even their fingers aren’t as agile on the strings as Tommy’s. In fact, I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw someone play this way.

 

It looks like I’m not the only one who’s enthralled by his little impromptu performance, either. Ike’s eyebrows are raised in surprise, and Will and De are sharing “this guy’s pretty damn good!” looks across the stage. The only person who doesn’t look impressed is, of course, Zac. In fact, he looks pissed off. Again.

 

“Can we finish up with amateur hour and get back to sound check?” He asks bluntly into his microphone, his voice echoing throughout the empty theater as Tommy’s fingers freeze on the guitar strings.

 

I don’t think any of us quite know what to say in response to that. Actually, I have plenty to say, but I don’t want to say it in front of Tommy and the rest of our crew. But next time I get the chance to pull Zac aside and verbally beat the shit out of him I fully intend to, because that was _more_ than uncalled for.

 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to get in the way.” Tommy laughs softly, trying his best to shrug the comment off. But I can tell that he’s confused and unsure about exactly what it is he’s done to make Zac act so hostile towards him. “Thanks for letting me play, man.”

 

“No problem. You’ve got some crazy skills!” Ike smiles at him warmly, probably trying to make up for our little brother’s behavior. “We should jam sometime.”

 

“Yeah, totally.”

 

“Guys, you have twenty minutes until you need to wrap it up for the meet and greet.” Machine tells us, tapping his non-existent watch to make his point.

 

“Okay, let’s do this already.” I sigh, turning back to my piano and adjusting the angle of my mic slightly. “’Make It Out Alive’?”

 

Seems fitting that I had to phrase that in the form of a question.

 

I don’t get a chance to really talk to Tommy again until after our meet and greet is over. We’re herded off of the stage and over to where our fans our waiting so quickly that all I have time to do is cast an apologetic look his way. He smiles reassuringly at me, silently telling me to stop worrying, but I can’t. I can’t get Zac’s words out of my head, and the more I think about what he said, the more annoyed at him I become. It would have been one thing if he’d simply interrupted Tommy’s playing to get our focus back on sound check (even though _he_ was the one who bailed on it for a damn text in the first place). But he didn’t just interrupt him, he insulted him. I understand him being mad at _me_ , I’m the one who broke up with him, I’m the one who hurt him. He doesn’t even know Tommy, he knows _nothing_ about him, and he has no right to treat him like that.

 

It’s almost an hour later when I’m finally free of responsibilities and I can go back over to the stage and find Tommy. And when I do, he’s hanging out with Muff and Will, chatting and laughing, which makes me feel a little better than I had been this whole time. I’m glad to see that at least some people around here know how to be civilized.

 

“I’m so sorry about all that.” I tell him as soon as we’ve excused ourselves from the group and we can head backstage to talk somewhere more private. “I didn’t mean to just ditch you for so long-”

 

“You didn’t ditch me, you had to work. I knew that when I came down here. And I ‘ditched’ you in Oklahoma to like get my makeup done and shit.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m still sorry.”

 

“You need to eradicate that word from your vocabulary, I swear.”

 

A light blush warms my cheeks as we step into a dressing room and I quietly shut the door behind us. “Listen… about what Zac said before-”

 

“If you apologize, I’m walking out of here right now.”

 

“But I feel like _shit_! He’s just in a bad mood, you didn’t do anything to deserve that. And what he said was total crap! You’re _so_ not an amateur; you have more talent in your little finger than all three of us combined.”

 

Now _he’s_ the one blushing as he ducks his head and lets his hair fall forward to hide his face. “You’re insane.”

 

“No, I’m serious. I had _no_ idea you could play like that. I mean, I know you rock on bass, but that was something else!”

 

“You weren’t so bad yourself.” He smirks playfully, trying to deflect the attention onto me instead. “I gotta admit, I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

 

“You were expecting ‘MMMBop’, and you know it.” I tease, taking a step closer to him as he laughs in response. “It’s fine. Most people who haven’t seen us perform since ninety-seven expect that.”

 

“Well, you definitely exceeded expectations.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

He nods, our bodies now within mere inches of each other as a result of all of the flirtatious edging closer we’ve been doing ever since I closed the door. “On stage _and_ off.”

 

Remind me again why we left that hotel room?

 

It’s not even a matter of me wanting to tear his clothes of right now (but I do), it’s the simple fact that when we were lying there together on that bed, even when we weren’t touching or kissing or doing anything except simply _existing_ , everything felt better. And ever since we opened the door and let reality back in, nothing has felt as easy as it did in those hours we spent alone together. _Nothing_ , not even breathing.

 

“How long until you have to head to the airport?”

 

Glancing at his watch, he sighs regretfully. “An hour.” Fuck. “But… I think I’m probably gonna head out now.”

 

“Why?”

 

He shrugs, offering me a sad half-smile. “To get it over with, I guess? I just don’t see the point in sticking around until the last minute. You have all this stuff you need to be doing, and I’m just distracting you-”

 

“I disagree.”

 

“Yeah, well, I think it’d just be better to like… rip the band aid off now instead of peeling it off slowly for the next sixty minutes, you know?”

 

“I’m sorry.” He glares at me chastisingly, but I don’t care. Sometimes it _is_ necessary to apologize. “I am! You went out of your way to come down here and see me, and-”

 

“And I’m glad I did.”

 

He doesn’t give me chance to protest or doubt him, he simply leans forward and closes the small distance between us, covering my lips with his own. Some kind of pathetic whimpering noise escapes me, and I know that it didn’t go unnoticed because I can feel him smirk against my lips almost immediately. But I don’t care; it’s how he makes me feel. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want to stop kissing him. I’m so desperate to keep it from happening that I’m willing to offer him good money right now to quit his job and just live on our tour bus! I know that’s ridiculous and unfair and impossible, but it’s the only way I can think of to make sure I get to see him every day. And I know that if I could see him every day life would be so much better.

 

I’ve been in a long distance relationship before, but it _never_ felt this bad to say goodbye. And I don’t even know if this _is_ a long distance relationship. I keep thinking of it as a relationship, but we haven’t actually talked about what the hell this thing between us is. I don’t know if he just wants to hook up every time we’re in the same state or if he sees this as something more. It definitely felt like more when we were in that hotel room, but more doesn’t necessarily equate to a relationship. Am I the only person he does this with? Or just the only guy? If some hot girl throws herself at him on tour, is he going to say no or go for it? And why shouldn’t he go for it? I’m _married_. He should be allowed to get laid if he wants to.

 

But I don’t _want_ him to be with anyone else.

 

God, this _sucks_.

 

“When are you gonna be back in the States again?” I sigh breathlessly between heated kisses.

 

“I’m back in L.A. for a couple of days at the end of the month,” And I’ll still be on the road. _Shit_. “And then I’m gone again until the end of October.”

 

“I might be able to fly out and see you when you get back. Our third leg doesn’t start until the beginning of November.”

 

“Yeah?” The hopeful tone in his voice and the smile on his face leaves me practically grinning.  
  


“Yeah. If you think you’ll have time...?”

 

“I can _make_ time.”

 

The mere thought of what it will be like to see each other again in a month, to be _alone_ , with no family and no crew and no shows to get ready for, seems to drive us both crazy. Our already hungry kisses quickly begin spiraling towards something uncontrollable as I back him up against the wall behind him, my body crushed to his in a way that makes him groan.

 

“I need to go.”

 

“No you don’t.” I insist determinedly, my lips trailing down to his neck while my leg slips between his until my thigh is pressed snugly to his crotch.

 

“Oh _fuck_ …” He moans, his breath hot on my ear as he grasps at my shirt and instinctively bucks his hips against me. “ _So_ unfair.”

 

“Want me to stop?”

 

“ _Hell_ no.”

 

I have no idea where this is going, because I honestly didn’t plan on anything like this happening when we came in here. After this afternoon, I didn’t think either of us would have the energy or the ability to make anything like this to happen. But I can already feel him getting hard against my thigh, and my pants are definitely tighter than they were two minutes ago.

 

The sudden, loud banging on the door beside us makes us jump apart in surprise, and just in time, too. We’ve barely had chance to put a couple of feet of space between us when it opens and Isaac comes waltzing in as though knocking first makes it okay for him to just enter any room he chooses.

 

What’s the point in knocking if you don’t wait for a damn answer?!

 

“Hey, I was looking everywhere for you. We’re just…” He pauses, and I feel my blood turn to ice in my veins as his eyes drift from my flushed face to Tommy’s. And then his gaze darts down, and as soon as he sees exactly what he was expecting to see, he’s staring at me again in that way he does whenever I do something that pisses him off so badly that he wants to punch me. “You have _got_ to be shitting me.”

 

“I should probably… let you guys get back to work.” Tommy says uncertainly, and I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to leave, but I can’t remember how to speak right now. “Uh… I’ll talk to you later.”

 

“O-okay.” I give a faint nod of acknowledgement, wishing that Ike would leave and stop watching us like some kind of chaperone. But I know he won’t, so I know that I’m not going to get to say a proper goodbye. “Have fun in Hong Kong.”

 

Ugh. _Lame_.

 

“Thanks.” He glances back and forth between us for a moment before backing towards the door. “Bye.”

 

“Bye…”

 

And now he’s gone.

 

“Damnit, Ike!”

 

“Oh, _hell_ no!” He gapes at me in open mouthed disbelief as he reaches out and slams the door shut. “I _know_ you’re not about to bitch me out for breaking up whatever the fuck you two had going on in here!”

 

Actually, I was. “It’s none of your business-”

 

“As your brother and your band mate, I’m making it my business. You really think it’s going to do wonders for our reputation if anyone finds out that you’re screwing around with a _dude_? That alone would be bad enough to ruin us, but throw in the fact that you’re married with four kids?! It’s career suicide, Taylor!”

 

“I know that, I’m not stupid!”

 

“Yeah, you are! You need to end whatever the hell it is you have going on with him before someone with a lot less to lose walks in and sees something that could ruin not only your life but mine and Zac’s, too!”

 

“You can’t just-”

 

Apparently he can just, because he doesn’t wait for me to argue before yanking the door back open and stalking out into the hallway again. I know he’s right. I know that what I’m doing is wrong, and that I’m not just risking everything I love, I’m risking their careers, too.

 

But I don’t know how to stop.

 

I don’t think I can.

 


	14. Chapter 14

  


 

 

_ Seattle, Washington – September 23rd, 2010 _

_  
_

To say that things were tense between me and Isaac after Tommy left yesterday would be like saying that Roseanne isn’t a very good singer. It’s true, but it’s an understatement of incomprehensible proportions. We did our best not to let it affect our performance in Portland, but off stage we weren’t exactly laughing and joking around as much as usual. Or at all. It was strange to go from having just one of my brothers pissed at me because of my relationship with Tommy to having them _both_ shooting me glares every ten minutes.

And I probably should have cared a whole hell of a lot more than I did. I should have felt much guiltier, and I should have apologized and promised them that I would end things with him so that I didn’t risk taking their careers down in flames with mine. But I didn’t, because I couldn’t. I _couldn’t_ promise them that I wouldn’t see him or speak to him again, or that nothing would happen between us if I did. The thought of it made me sick to my stomach. It was as though all of the air was sucked out of the room. I knew that I was being selfish, but at the same time it felt as though _they_ were being selfish for expecting me to do it. Reasonably, I knew that was crazy, but it was how I felt.

Tommy texted me right after Isaac had yelled at me for being an idiot and jeopardizing our futures. He apologized for getting me in trouble and told me that he hoped Isaac hadn’t come down too hard on me. I was in the middle of writing a response telling him not to worry when I got another text from him telling me that he’d understand if I wanted to stop. After quickly deleting everything I’d already typed, I simply responded with ‘ _Stop what?_ ’. His reply had been ‘ _This. Whatever this is. I totally get it if you can’t do this anymore._ ’

I sat there and stared at his text for a moment, trying to figure out what to tell him. And eventually, I settled on the most stripped down version of the truth I could find.

‘ _I can’t NOT do this._ ’

That was twenty-four hours ago, and I haven’t heard anything from him since.

At first I told myself that he was probably on the road, trying to get to the airport. Then I told myself that he was busy checking in for his flight to Los Angeles, and then he had to get through security and find his gate. Then he was on the flight, and you can’t text when you’re on a flight. Then he probably just wanted to get home and crash, maybe take a shower and relax after being on tour almost non-stop all summer.

But when I got off stage after the show and checked my phone, and there was _still_ nothing from him, I found it harder to convince myself that he was just busy. I’d obviously freaked him out, I’d come on too strong, I’d been _too_ honest. It was bound to happen sooner or later, I guess. In fact, I’m honestly shocked that it wasn’t sooner. If I was him, I wouldn’t have come back for more after all of the over-sharing I did in Thackerville.

He’s probably in Hong Kong by now, and I know there’s no way in hell he’s going to be contacting me from there. Even if he _did_ still want to have anything to do with me, roaming charges are so fucking ridiculous that I doubt he’d be willing to go into debt just to hear my voice or say ‘hi’.

Today officially sucks.

I mean, there have been some highlights, I guess. The walk wasn’t awful, even though I was highly tempted to skip it again (I know, I’m a terrible human being). There was this girl who apparently hosted her own walk in Olympia a couple of years ago, and she wrote to the state governor asking her to come and give a speech or something. And even though the governor didn’t show up, she _did_ write a speech and she sent one of her minions to read it on her behalf. And this girl then kept the speech all this time just to give to us. It was pretty freaking awesome, and it reminded me again _why_ I want to do this and how good it feels to see people going out of their way for this cause that’s so dear to our hearts.

But now the walk is over, and sound check is over, and doors are about to open… and I’m sitting backstage alone because neither of my brothers, my best friends, want anything to do with me right now. And neither does Tommy. So where the hell does that leave me? I’m being ostracized by my family for a relationship I’m in with another guy who is avoiding me because he _doesn’t_ feel as strongly for me as I do for him. Fuck it. I swear this kind of shit only happens to me, I’m like a magnet for it.

As I hear the sound of A Rocket To The Moon’s sound check coming to a close, my iPhone begins vibrating in my hand, and I idly glance down at it, fully expecting to see my wife’s name and smiling face staring up at me from the screen.

But it’s not her face I see. It’s Tommy’s.

For a moment, I don’t even know what to do. I just sit there and frown at it like it doesn’t make any sense. Because it _doesn’t_. But then I realize that if I don’t answer it soon I’m going to miss the call entirely, so I quickly hit ‘accept’ and raise the phone to my ear.

“Hey.”

“I can’t find my passport!”

Okay.

That wasn’t _exactly_ what I was expecting him to say.

“What?”

“I lost it! I’m in an airport in fucking _Hong Kong_ and I can’t find my damn passport!” He tells me in a somewhat panicked voice. “Where the fuck is it?”

“I don’t know!” I try hard but fail miserably to keep the laughter out of my tone. It’s not that I find this funny; losing your passport while you’re abroad sucks. But the fact that he thinks _I_ know where it might be is amusing to me. “When was the last time you remember having it?”

“I don’t know. Um…” He sighs tiredly, and my smile takes a massive hit. I can only imagine how exhausted and frustrated he must be. Never mind that he’s lost his passport, he just spent a good fifteen hours on a plane, he’s in a foreign country, and he’s probably nervous as hell. “I must have had it in L.A., because I couldn’t have even left the country without it. But now it’s _gone_. I don’t get it!”

“Okay, just… stay calm. Maybe…” Ugh, he’s right. Where could it have gone? “Maybe it fell out of your bag on the plane or something? Or… I don’t know… were you travelling alone or with the rest of the band? Maybe you gave it to one of them to hold for a minute and they accidentally put it in with their stuff?”

“Maybe.” He groans. “Fuck! What if I did? I was practically a freaking zombie this morning, I was so out of it, I could’ve given it to a complete fucking stranger and I wouldn’t even remember! And they’re all _gone_ now, so I can’t even ask them to check!”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” I frown in confusion. “They just left you there?”

“They had to or they would’ve missed their connection to Singapore. There was no sense in us having to reschedule everyone’s flights just because I fucked up.” He practically growls in irritation, and I think I even hear him hit something. It sounds kinda like a bathroom stall door, and I wince as though it was my hand that just punched it. “I am _so_ screwed!”

“No, you’re not. You just need to go and talk to someone from immigration and explain the situation.” I coax him as reassuringly as I can. “I doubt you’re the first person to ever lose a passport. I bet they’ll just give you some paperwork to fill out, and have some nice guy in a uniform come and interrogate you in a tiny little room for a few hours. Maybe they’ll do a cavity search, too.”

“Gee thanks, that makes me feel a lot better.” He snorts, but I can hear the smile in his voice, and I feel better knowing that I helped to put it there.

“Hey, you seemed to enjoy it yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt it’ll be as hot this time.”

My smile widens even further as I bask in the knowledge that he thought it was hot. You’ll get no argument from me. Just the memory of the look on his face as he came is enough to make me squirm in my seat.

“Just close your eyes and try to relax. As long as you don’t have a balloon of coke stuffed up there, it’ll probably be pretty painless. I _think_ they use lube…”

“Don’t even joke about that shit, okay? I swear, I’ve been having these flashes of being like carted off to some grody little prison with no indoor plumbing. You know, like in that fucked up Clare Danes movie where she ends up in this prison in China for like… ever. And she gets all sick and stuff because a bug crawls up her fucking nose or something. I don’t know if you saw that movie, but it was _nasty_!”

“Okay, first of all, I’m pretty sure it was Thailand, not China.” I correct him through my own chuckles. “And second of all, I really don’t think they’ll cart you off to prison for losing your passport. But if you _do_ have a balloon full of coke up your butt, then you _might_ have a problem.”

He laughs, and I let myself relax against the tattered couch I’m sitting on, enjoying the sound of it and the way it makes me feel. “God, I wish you were here right now.”

“You do?” I ask in genuine surprise.

“Well… yeah. I was freaking out about all of this crap like five minutes ago, and now I’m _laughing_. I didn’t think I’d find any this funny for at least a couple of days.”

So… does that mean he wants me there for my witty banter and my amazing ability to remain focused in the face of emergencies, or because he just wants me there? Fuck, _why_ would he want me there? He hasn’t said a word to me since the text I sent him yesterday, he clearly doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do about him, so what the hell is all of this to him?

“Why did you call me, Tommy?” I blurt out before I have a chance to talk myself out of asking.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… why _me_? Out of everyone you could’ve called-”

“Everyone else I would’ve thought to call is probably on a plane to Singapore by now.” He answers somewhat awkwardly, and my heart instantly sinks.

“Right.”

“Okay, that’s a lie. Well, no, not a lie. They _are_ on a plane. But…” There’s a pause. A very long pause. And I distinctly hear him suck in a slow, deep breath. “You were the first person that came to mind, even before any of them.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I desperately attempt to keep my hopes from prematurely leaping to new and dizzying heights. “I was?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’ve travelled abroad a lot and stuff, so I figured you might know like… what to do in this kind of situation.”

“Oh.”

He sighs heavily and mutters “fuck it”, and I kind of feel like doing the same. “That’s a lie, too.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there some reason you keep lying?”

“Because the truth fucking terrifies me.” He states bluntly and honestly, and I find myself smiling faintly in response.

“Me too.”

A silence hangs between us for a prolonged moment, and I get the feeling that he’s letting his words sink in just like I am. I understand why he’s so freaked out by what he feels. If it’s anything like what I feel for him, it’s overwhelming and it’s confusing, and mostly it’s entirely unexpected. He started off as some pretty guy in a bar that I got drunk with and couldn’t _not_ kiss. And somehow he’s become this pretty guy who I can’t stop thinking about _every_ day, who I want to be around all the time, who I feel more like myself around than anyone else. I never planned this, and I can’t control it now anymore than I could when it began. In fact, I think the longer it continues, the _less_ control I have.

“I should let you go.” I say grudgingly, as much as I’d love to sit here in silence with him indefinitely. “You need to go and find someone who can help you get to Singapore. Not to mention that this phone call probably cost the same as your rent check.”

He gives a soft sigh of laughter. “Actually, I signed up for some global thingy plan or whatever last week, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Does that mean you’re still gonna text me while you’re out of the country?”

“Count on it.”

That’s all it takes to leave me grinning from ear to ear, so widely that it hurts. “Okay. Go get yourself a new passport. Text me if you need anything.”

“Thanks, I will. Have a good show tonight!”

“I’ll try.”

As I end the call, I’m sitting alone in the dressing room with a goofy smile on my face like the lovesick idiot I am. And I’m not even trying to stop it, because why the hell should I? No one is here to see it, and even if they were, _why_ should I have to reign in happiness? I haven’t felt this way in _so_ long, literally _years_ , and no way am I giving it up now that I’ve got it.

 

_ Boise, Idaho – September 28th, 2010 _

__

It’s been a week since Isaac walked in on me making out with Tommy in a dressing room in Portland, and everything has been getting progressively worse between us since then. Between Ike and I, that is. Things between Tommy and I are probably better than ever.

Which, in turn, is making the tension between me and my brothers so bad that it’s becoming more and more obvious to the rest of the world.

At first it was just our crew who noticed the extra bickering and the shorter tempers, but within days the fans were starting to pick up on it, too. Ike walked in on Tommy and I _again_ yesterday, only this time the only thing he saw was me talking on the phone, laughing and flirting like a teenager instead of the twenty-seven year old I actually am. He stormed out of the room without saying a word, but he bitched me out for it later, saying that I was being selfish and irresponsible, and I know he’s right. But I still can’t seem to care enough to do anything about it. Even though it’s made him so mad at me that, last night during the encore, we had what amounted to an on stage argument.

We’re usually pretty good at keeping any shit between us off stage and off camera. But as the youtube video I’ve just been watching of last night’s livestream shows, we failed miserably at both. I can’t believe I fucking called him out on being a jerk in front of everyone, and I can’t believe that he so obviously let it get to him that he almost _shoved_ me. And I could fucking _punch_ our damn camera guy for continuing to film us when we left the stage! Any idiot could see that what was going on was _not_ something we wanted to share with hundreds of fans all over the world!

Tonight’s live stream wasn’t _as_ bad, but it definitely didn’t dispel the rumors flying around after last night. And now our fan base is buzzing with talk of a break up. People are saying that Ike is leaving the band and that we’re cancelling the next leg of the tour. And our crew have been fanning the flames by taking to twitter and making vague, ominous comments about losing their jobs. I mean, how _stupid_ do you have to be to do something like that where _anyone_ can see it?!

Then again, I guess we’re the ones who are stupid for letting things get this out of hand to begin with.

I think this has gone far enough already, and if he’s not willing to confront me and actually talk it out, then I guess that means it’s up to me to do it. Closing my laptop, I look across the aisle of the tour bus to where Ike is sitting, engrossed in something on his iPhone. Now might not be the best time to do this, we’re both exhausted from the show, and he’s going to be pissy with me for making him put his phone away. But we need to get this over with already.

“We should talk.” I tell him plainly, staring at him while I wait for him to look up and acknowledge my existence. He doesn’t look up, but at least he replies.

“Are you going to apologize and admit you’re wrong?”

“Ike-”

He sighs and shakes his head in disappointment, doing his best ‘put-upon big brother’ routine. “Then I have nothing to say to you, Taylor.”

I guess that tone of his is supposed to make me feel ashamed and send me crying to my bunk, but all it really does it make me angry. Angry enough that I get out of my seat, grab him by his sleeve, and drag him down the aisle of the bus to the only place where we can get any privacy around here. He glares at me furiously as I push the button to close the door to the back of the bus behind us, and he rubs his arm like I grabbed _him_ and not his shirt.

He’s such a drama queen.

“You are fucking out of control, man!” He snaps at me in disgust. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I’m sick of all of this bullshit, that’s what’s wrong with me.”

“Me too! But since you’re not willing to do anything about it-“

“By ‘do anything about it’, you mean stop seeing Tommy?” I clarify for him accusingly, and he shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “You’re right. I’m not willing to do that.”

“Then I don’t want to talk to you!”

“Well you’re gonna have to sooner or later, because we’re brothers, and we’re in a band together-”

“Maybe not for much longer if you keep acting the way you have been!” He shoots back angrily, his dismissive attitude towards me replaced with one of pure aggression. “It’d be one thing if you were just playing Russian roulette with your own career, but if you don’t stop screwing around with him, you’re gonna take me and Zac down with you! It’s not fucking _fair_ , Taylor! We don’t deserve that!”

“I know you don’t!” I yell in frustration, trying to remind myself that there’s a good chance someone in the bunks will wake up and overhear some of the shouting match we’re having. But I’m too worked up to keep my voice down. “It’s not like I set out to ruin you guys! I didn’t plan on _any_ of this, Ike! I didn’t go looking for him, he was just there. And I didn’t mean to fall for him, but I have.” He scoffs at that, rolling his eyes as though what I’m saying is ridiculous. But ridiculous or not, it’s the truth. “I’m serious! I really, _really_ care about him-”

“And what about your wife and kids, Tay, huh? Do you care about them?”

I can’t believe he’d even ask me that. I mean, okay, maybe my behavior lately wouldn’t make the best evidence in my defense, but for the past eight years I have been the best father I know how to be and a (mostly) faithful husband.

“You _know_ I love Nat, and I _love_ my kids. I would do anything for them, I would _die_ for them.”

“But you won’t stop fucking around with some random guy for them, is that it? Is _that_ the exception?”

“No! He’s _not_ just some random guy, Ike.” I insist, fully aware that my tone has quickly morphed from outraged to pleading in a matter of seconds. I’m no longer telling him what to believe, I’m begging him to understand. “You don’t get it, you _can’t_. You don’t know how it feels. You’re crazy about Nikki, you worship her, you always have! You don’t know what it’s like to be married to a woman, not because you _wanted_ to spend the rest of your life with her and have children with her, but because you made a stupid mistake when you were still practically a kid and there was no other option!”

He stares at me silently. His expression is still stony and unreadable, but his eyes are searching mine uncertainly, as though he’s trying to decide what to think of what I’ve just said.

“I have never just been myself, Ike. I’ve always, _always_ been what everyone else wanted or needed or expected me to be. I was straight because our family and our fans wanted me to be, and I married Nat because she needed me to and mom and dad expected me to. But that wasn’t what _I_ wanted, that’s not who _I_ am!”

“What’re you saying?” He finally asks, as though I haven’t already made it clear. Like he hasn’t known it on some level his whole life. “Are you telling me that… that you like guys?”

“Are _you_ telling me that you _seriously_ haven’t been aware of that fact since we were kids?” He looks away uncomfortably, muttering something about how I always said I liked girls. “And if I’d come to you when I was fourteen and said ‘I like guys’, would you have been okay with it? Would you have told me to do whatever made me happy? Or would you have told me that it would be bad for the band if anyone found out I was gay?”

We both know what would have happened. It’s the exact same thing that’s happening now, the same thing that happened when he suspected something was going on with Alex. Maybe I wasn’t married with kids back then, but Ike was still just as terrified of losing everything we’d worked for because I was “screwing around with a dude” then, too. If thousands and thousands of teenage girls had stopped buying our music because I was into guys and they didn’t think they had a chance in hell with me the way they seemed to believe they did back then (and still do now, for some reason), we wouldn’t be standing here right now because our career would have been over before it even really began.

And I _knew_ that.

Even when I was a just a kid, I understood what it would mean for me and for my brothers if I was gay. So I hid who I really was as best as I could, and I lived the life everyone else expected me to live. And in doing so, I ended up knocking up my eighteen year old girlfriend and having to marry her before I was even legally old enough to have a glass of champagne on my own wedding day!

“I never told you that you had to be anything besides who you were.” He protests, though his voice is considerably lower and softer than before, and he doesn’t even sound as though he believes what he’s just said. “I’m sorry if you thought you had to pretend to be someone you weren’t just to keep everyone else happy, and I’m sorry you’re not happy with how your life turned out, I _really_ am. But you have a family now, man. You have kids…”

“I know. And I love them more than anything. But…” I sigh sadly, sinking down onto the back seat, all of my energy long gone. “I don’t feel like myself. When I’m at home, when I’m with Nat and the kids, I don’t feel like the real me. I feel like the version of me I’ve had to become to make them happy. The only time I ever felt close to being myself before was when we were out on the road, when I was away from it all and I could pretend it wasn’t real. But then I met Tommy. And… I don’t know what it is about him, but he lets me be the person I’ve wanted to be my _whole_ life and never thought I was allowed to be, you know?” I can tell from the look on his face that he _doesn’t_ know, because he’s never felt that way, but at least he looks somewhat sympathetic. Probably because my voice just cracked with emotion, and I’m on the verge of crying in front of him for the first time in years. “I can say and do whatever I want, and it’s all okay with him. I don’t have to pretend to be anyone or anything else, I can just be me and it’s enough. I’ve _never_ had that before, Ike, not once in my whole life. So… _please_ don’t ask me to give it up now. I know it’s not fair to you, and I know it’s selfish, but I _need_ this.”

I can feel him watching me, but I can’t see it. My head is in my hands, and I can’t bring myself to look at him because I’m too afraid that nothing I just said really made any difference. But eventually he lets out a defeated sigh, groaning as he drops down heavily beside me. And when I finally chance a sideways look at him, I find him with his eyes closed and his head resting against the back of the seat.

“God damnit, Taylor.” He mumbles miserably, and my heart wants to expand and contract all at once because of the pained expression on his face.

I’m elated because I know I just won this fight. At least for now. He’s not going to make me give Tommy up, and he’s not going to hassle me about it anymore unless I’m reckless enough to give him cause to. But I still feel like shit, because I can tell that he’s afraid that I’m going to mess up, and that he’s going to lose the thing he loves most when I do.

And the worst part is that I can’t promise him that he won’t.


	15. Chapter 15

  


 

 

_ Tulsa, Oklahoma – October 17th, 2010 _

_  
_

I’ve barely been home for two weeks and I’m already going stir crazy. I miss the tour bus, I miss being in a different city every other day, I miss playing shows, and eating at crappy little road-side diners in the middle of nowhere. And most of all, I miss the privacy. Not that there was a whole lot of privacy while sharing a cramped bus with a bunch of adult males, but somehow I still managed to find a lot more alone time on the road than I do around here. At night, after a show, I could shut myself away at the back of the tour bus with nothing but my laptop, and I could IM or text or webcam with Tommy, wherever he happened to be in the world. My favorite of the three obviously being the latter, because it meant that I got to see him smile instead of looking at a text smilie face, and hear him laugh rather than having to imagine it as I read “haha” or “lol”.

But now that I’m back here in Tulsa, I can’t seem to get a second to myself. We’ve gone from talking every day to talking a few times a week. And I know I should just be grateful that I get to talk to him that frequently (or at all), and I should focus on my wife and kids, and I really am trying. I mean, I love being able to spend time with my kids, and I know it means the world to them to have me home. I’d have to be the world’s biggest asshole to begrudge them the trips to the movies and the river park and the toy store that they ask for. It’s not them… it’s Nat. It’s Nat and her obsession with having another baby. And maybe I shouldn’t begrudge her that, either. But honestly, isn’t four enough?! What will having a fifth child give her that the first four haven’t already?

It started the _day_ I got back from tour. Literally. I woke up the first morning, rolled out of bed, staggered into the bathroom, and was greeted by the site of an ovulation test sitting on the vanity. And, of course, she _was_ ovulating, which meant that I got coaxed up to our bedroom at least seven times over the next three days. It would have probably been more than seven if I hadn’t come up with a few good excuses to avoid it. And I felt like a jerk for making those excuses. But not nearly as bad as I feel every morning when I go to get the mouthwash out of the cabinet above the sink and see her two EPT pregnancy tests sitting on the top shelf, just waiting to be used. And I’ll probably feel even _worse_ when she does use them and I spend the entire time hoping like hell that they turn out to be negative.

Tommy keeps telling me that I’m too hard on myself, and that I shouldn’t beat myself up for feeling the way I do. But how am I supposed to avoid it? All she wants it another baby, and I’m praying that it doesn’t happen. And yet _I_ still get what I want. I get to go to the studio whenever I feel like it, and I get to hit the road again in two weeks.

And I get Tommy.

He’s pretty much the only thing that keeps me sane most of the time. I don’t know how he does it, but just one text from him when I’m having a guilt attack of epic proportions makes it easier to breathe. Things just make more sense when he says them, they’re easier to believe. I don’t know if it’s the words he uses or the way he put things into such simple terms, but whatever it is works _every_ time. It’s hard to grasp the fact that we’ve only known each other for four months, it feels like years already. And even though I miss being with him in person, being able to touch him and kiss him, I think that the fact that we’ve only been able to talk for most of our relationship is the reason we have this crazy connection. We’re getting to know each other, everything about each other, it’s not just physical. We can talk about pretty much anything at this point, I never feel like I have to hold back with him. I keep trying to tell him how much that means to me, how much _he_ means to me, but I can’t seem to find the right words, and all the words I can find feel so cliché that I refuse to use them. So we’re stuck in this… dance. This cryptic back and forth, where neither of us says how we feel and neither of us really knows how the other feels, but we _think_ we know, and we try to say it without _actually_ saying it. But really we just end up making things less and less clear.

I plan to change that tonight, though.

At least, I hope so.

I managed to sneak out to the studio after Nat and the kids fell asleep, and I took my laptop with me so that I could make my webcam “date” with Tommy. It’s his birthday (well, it’s his birthday in Australia, which is where he is right now), and since I can’t give him a present in person, I’ve been working on something to give him via webcam which will (hopefully) help him to understand just how much he’s come to mean to me these last few months.

Either that or I’m about to massacre a song by one of his favorite bands.

I set the laptop up on the desk next to my piano and open it up, giving it a second to load Skype before worrying about whether or not the iSight camera is pointed at the right place. I’m still a few minutes earlier than we agreed on, so while I wait for him to log on, I try to quell the nervous fluttering in my stomach by practicing the song that I’ve been playing at every available opportunity for the past week. Knowing me, I’m going to fuck it up. I forget my own lyrics half the time, so the chances of me remembering someone else’s while under this kind of pressure aren’t great. To be honest, I’ve been so focused on figuring out how to “translate” this song to piano that I haven’t paid as much attention to memorizing the lyrics as I probably should have. But it’s too late now; it’s this or nothing. And I refuse to give him nothing when he’s given me so much.

Finally, five minutes late, I see him sign in, and a smile automatically spreads across my face despite my nerves. I don’t even have a chance to start a video call before he sends a request for one, and I eagerly click to answer it, wasting no time in making the video full screen as soon as it loads.

“Hey.” He smiles in the slightly awkward way he has at the beginning of every video call we’ve had so far. “What’s up?”

“You’re late!”

“Cut me some slack, it’s my fucking birthday!”

He sticks his lower lip out a little and we both try to keep a straight face as I roll my eyes dramatically. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“I know.”

“So how’s it feel to be _thirty_?”

“Fuck you!” He exclaims in outrage. “I’m twenty-nine!”

“Potato, tomato…” I reply with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Seriously though, how’s your day been so far?”

“Pretty freaking awesome, actually.” The smile that spreads across his face is contagious, and I feel my own lips curling into a matching grin. “I mostly hung out at the hotel, caught up on some sleep, and we just got back from recording a performance for a TV show over here. I think we’re going out tonight but I don’t know where yet. Apparently I’m not _allowed_ to know.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Right? But at least I know I can trust these guys to come up with something kickass. You’ll never guess what they did during last night’s show as an early birthday present for me!”

“What?” I ask, knowing it must be good because I can hear the almost giddy excitement in his voice, and giddy isn’t an emotion he pulls out very often.

“They played one of my _favorite_ Metallica songs. It was fucking _awesome_!”

Well shit. “I bet.”

“I mean, to get to perform a song I love, by a band I love, in front of all those people, with some of my favorite people in the world… I don’t think anything could possibly top that.”

Neither do I. “Yeah… I can’t think of anything.”

A frown crinkles his brow as his smile slowly fades, and I try to force myself to smile even wider in hopes that he’ll just think he was imagining my momentary disappointment. But it’s too late, and he’s too good at telling when something is bothering me. He has been since the night we met.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“No, something’s up.” He insists knowingly, shaking his hair out of his eyes as though that will help him to see me better and thus figure out what’s wrong. “You were fine until like thirty seconds ago. What did I say?”

“Nothing, it wasn’t you.” I sigh, unable to look at him as I fidget uncomfortably on the piano bench. I can still feel him watching me, even from the other side of the world. “I was just…” Damnit. “I’ve been working on something for you, for your birthday…”

“Yeah?” There’s an obvious hint of surprise and anticipation in his tone, and it makes the smile begin twitching on my lips again. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing special. I mean, compared to performing a Metallica song with Adam and the guys last night-“

“Taylor, I swear to John Wayne that I’ll beat you down if you say one more word that sounds even remotely self-deprecating. Seriously, I don’t know if someone told you it was like cute or something, but it’s _not_.”

I can tell he’s teasing, which makes it easy for me not to take it to heart. But even if he doesn’t want to hear me say it, I’m still convinced that me playing him this song isn’t going to seem all that special to him now, not when he clearly had such an incredible time last night. And I’m _glad_ he did, because at the end of the day that’s all that matters. I just wish I had something more to offer him.

“So? What is it?” He asks impatiently, and I swear it looks as though he’s trying to peer through the screen, like he’ll be able to see his gift sitting somewhere beside me. “Can I drink it?”

“No.” I snort before heaving a resigned sigh and meeting his curious eyes. “It’s a song.”

“You wrote me a song?” His eyebrows jump in surprise, and again I want to smack myself because that would have been a better gift. A cover of someone else’s song is going to seem lazy now.

Fuck my life.

“No.” I admit grudgingly, dropping my eyes to my hands as I slowly twist my Hanson ring around on my finger. “It’s… it’s a Depeche Mode song.”

There’s nothing but silence from his end of the webcam, and I’m convinced that he’s probably terrified that I’ve butchered a classic song that I had no right touching in the first place, and that he’s going to have to pretend to like it so that he won’t hurt my feelings. But when I finally force myself to look up at his face again, I don’t see a shred of doubt or uncertainty in his delicate features. All I see is stunned awe.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I mean… I know you love their music, and I was listening to one of the songs I downloaded after we met, and I just… I don’t know. It made me think of you, I guess. So… I wanted to sing it for you.”

“Which song is it?”

“I’m not telling.” I retort childishly, and he rolls his eyes at me, smiling as he shakes his head. “If I don’t completely screw it up, hopefully you’ll be able to figure it out.”

“So you’re still gonna play it for me?”

“Yeah… if you want me to?”

“Fuck yeah, definitely!” He tells me enthusiastically, and it looks as though he shifts forward a little in his seat as he rests his chin on his hand attentively.

Taking a deep breath, I turn away from the laptop and face the piano, my tongue sweeping across my dry lips as I gaze down at the keys in front of me and try to remember how the hell the song even starts. I’ve only played for him once before, and that was one of my own songs during a routine sound check. This is so different, I care so much more what he thinks about this. I can’t even remember the last time I was so concerned with someone else’s opinion when it came to anything music related.

But this is _for_ him, and I need it to be as close to perfect as possible.

My faintly shaking fingers settle lightly over the smooth black and white keys, and I close my eyes as I begin to carefully press them down. As soon as I’ve successfully gotten the opening bars of the song out, I feel my confidence start to build a little, and by the time I open my mouth to sing, I’m nowhere near as nervous as I was when I began.

“ _One subtle look_  
God help me  
Is all it took  
To sell me  
One single word  
Unspoken  
Your name unheard  
And I'm broken  
   
The sun and the moon  
and the stars in the sky are laughing  
They've seen it all before  
For the wind in the trees  
and the waves on the seas  
It's the same thing  
They can't take any more  
   
One gentle touch  
and I'm helpless  
It's all too much  
For my senses  
One simple prayer  
Denied me  
When you're not there  
Beside me  
   
The sun and the moon  
and the stars in the sky are laughing  
They've seen it all before  
For the wind in the trees  
And the waves on the seas  
It's the same thing  
They can't take any more.”

My fingers remain on the piano keys, holding them down firmly long after the sustain has faded and the studio around me is entirely silent. And he’s silent, too. I’m so aware of my own heartbeat right now that it’s actually making me feel a little bit nauseous. I wish he’d say something, or that I had the guts to turn around and look at his face. But I feel like I just bared some part of my soul to him that he hadn’t really seen before, and if he didn’t like what he saw I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to deal with that.

“Wow…”

My head instinctively snaps up and turns to look at the computer screen the second I hear his voice, but nothing about his tone or his expression gives me _any_ clue how he’s feeling right now. Though I’m pretty sure that _I_ probably look like a deer stuck in wet cement and caught in the headlights of an oncoming bulldozer.

“Was that… a good ‘wow’?” I ask hesitantly, trying to cover for my unsteady voice with a soft chuckle that ends up being even shakier.

“I couldn’t even figure out which song it was at first. It sounded _completely_ different from the original.”

“Oh.”

“No, no!” He quickly protests as my face falls before I can stop it. “I didn’t mean that as like a bad thing. I… I actually kinda think I prefer your version to Depeche Mode’s.”

The fact that we’re on webcam makes it difficult to know for sure, but I’m almost certain that I can see a blush on his cheeks, even if it is a little blurry and his face is half hidden in shadow.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He laughs quietly before pointing a threatening finger at me. “But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it and then kill you.”

“Fair enough.”

“I mean it, though. Well, not the part about killing you, but about liking it more than the original.”

His tone is insistent, and even though some small part of me is still convinced that he’s just being sweet to spare my feelings, the rest of me believes that he actually means it. I haven’t felt this exhilarated or liberated in weeks, I feel like I could do anything right now, like I’m invincible and nothing could possibly bring me down from this high.

“Can I be a totally ungrateful asshole and ask you to do something else for me?”

“Depends what it is.” I tease playfully, already willing to give him anything he asks for that I’m able to provide.

“Could you like… record it? It doesn’t have to be some big production or anything, you can just record it on your Mac or whatever. I just… wanna keep it.”

And here I was thinking that I couldn’t feel any better than I did a second ago. “Yeah, sure!”

“Thanks.” He smiles softly, his eyes locked onto mine as we sit in a strangely comfortable silence for a moment. “Seriously… thank you. That was really…” His gaze drops from mine shyly, and the feeling of warmth and fullness that’s taken up residence in my chest seems to expand even further, until it feels like I’m going to drown in it. “That was one of the best presents I’ve ever gotten.”

“You’re welcome.” My heart is pounding in that sickeningly strong way again, just like it was earlier, only now the feeling isn’t a bad one. I’m still nervous as I open my mouth to speak, but there’s a certainty beneath the anxiety that makes it easier for me to do this. “Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

I open my mouth to speak, but I’m interrupted by a knock on a door somewhere. We both exhale our bated breaths in undeniable irritation as we instinctively look over our shoulders, but the voice that accompanies the knock comes from his end of the conversation, not mine. And when he turns back to me with a blatantly apologetic look on his face, I know that the moment has passed.

“Shit, I’m sorry. It’s Isaac and Sasha.”

“Do you need to go?” I ask, already knowing the answer but hoping against hope that I’m wrong.

“If I don’t, they’ll just hunt down Sutan and get him to let them in.”

“Okay… well… I guess I’ll talk to you in a few days?”

“I have a day off on the twenty-first, so we can talk longer then.” He tells me with a hopeful smile. It’s obvious that he’s trying to make me feel better, and I don’t want him to feel bad that this conversation had to be prematurely ended, so I force a bigger smile than I really feel like wearing. “I’ll make sure everyone knows to stay the fuck away from my hotel room.”

“Sounds good.” Everything feels so unfinished right now. Probably because it is. But I can’t change that; I can’t finish saying what I wanted to say while his friends are still banging relentlessly on the door and demanding that he come out and play. “Have fun tonight. Don’t do anything that gets you deported.”

He snickers in amusement, giving me a devilish wink and a grin. “I can’t promise anything.”

“Happy Birthday, Tommy.”

“Thanks. And thank you… for the song.”

“You’re welcome.”

Neither of us seems to be able to say goodbye. Usually we’ll end our chats with a casual “see ya” or “talk to you later”, but tonight it doesn’t feel right to leave things that way. A few seconds later, however, I see the hotel room door behind him begin to swing open, and at least four people pile into the room and make a beeline for him, all talking and laughing over each other loudly until nothing they say is even slightly intelligible. He offers me a small smile and a half-hearted wave of his hand before turning off his webcam and ending our video call.

For a while I just sit and stare at the blank screen in front of me, wondering if I could have done something different so that maybe I would have gotten the chance to tell him what I wanted to tell him. Maybe if I hadn’t wasted so much time being so self-conscious, maybe if I’d just come right out and said it. But then again, maybe it’s better this way. Webcam might be our preferred method of communication over talking on the phone and texting, because at least we can see each other, but that doesn’t mean it’s ideal. If I just exercise a little patience and wait until he comes back to the states next month, until I can go out to Los Angeles and actually be _with_ him, I know it’ll be better to tell him how I feel in person.

That is, if I can ever work up the nerve to actually say it…

 


	16. Chapter 16

  


 

 

_ Wallingford, Connecticut – November 20th, 2010 _

__

I can’t believe it’s almost over again.

Just three more days, and then it’s done. The ‘Shout it Out’ tour will be no more, and I’ll be going back home. It seems like I only just left, the third leg of the tour flew by in a blur. I’m not ready to go back to Tulsa yet. Especially not when I know that Natalie is going to want to start trying for a baby again pretty much the moment I set foot through the front door. The first batch of pregnancy tests she took last month were all negative, and she was understandably disappointed. And I felt like shit, because I wasn’t. I was relieved. She blinked back tears and forced a smile, saying that it was okay and we could just try again. And I nodded and forced a smile of my own, for entirely different reasons. When I told her that I was sorry, she assumed that I thought I’d failed somehow, when really I was saying sorry because I’d been praying that the tests would be negative and I felt awful for it. And then I felt even more awful because she started _comforting_ me, telling me that it wasn’t my fault.

But it sure as hell felt like it was.

And now that tour is over, and we don’t have anything else planned for the rest of the year, or for next year for that matter… my life is going to revolve around procreating, I just know it. Kate is due within the month, and if Nat’s baby fever is bad now, it’s going to be exponentially worse when our first niece actually arrives. I know I’m not going to hear about anything else for weeks, possibly months. It was the same when Shep was born; as soon as she’d found out that her best friend was pregnant, she’d become _obsessed_ with the idea of having another baby. I managed to talk her out of it for a while and convince her that River still needed too much time and attention for us to be bringing another newborn into the mix. But by the time Kate’s baby shower rolled around, she wasn’t taking no for an answer anymore. And nine months later, I was a father of four instead of three.

I just need a break. I know that being on the road for almost a month now should have counted as a break, but it didn’t. I was working the whole time. And even though I love my job, the tension that’s been lingering between Zac and I since the night I first kissed Tommy makes everything more difficult than it used to be. We put on an act for the fans, we joke around when cameras are on us and people are watching, but behind the scenes we barely speak. I miss him. I don’t miss what we had, but I miss my brother, my best friend.

My whole life feels like a chore lately, it’s like it’s falling apart and I can’t hold it together. Part of me doesn’t even want to. I keep wondering if maybe I can start over if I just let go and allow everything to crumble around me. But deep down I know better. I won’t be able to find the blank slate I long for in amongst the rubble and the ruins.

If I could, though, if starting over was an option… I’d want to start over with him.

With Tommy.

All I can think about most days is seeing him again. _Really_ seeing him, not just via a webcam and a laggy internet connection. I don’t know when it’ll happen exactly, but just knowing that it will is enough to keep me going. It’s something to look forward to, even if I can’t cross the days off on my calendar. And at least we can still chat online and through text, which is definitely better than nothing.

“We need to finalize the setlist.” Ike informs me tiredly as he gestures for me to follow him out of the dressing room I’ve been hiding out in since we finished up with our meet and greet earlier.

I don’t want to get off of the couch I’m sat on, but I know that if I don’t it’ll only piss both of my brothers off more, and that’ll just make my life more difficult. So, with a groan of protest, I all but roll off of the tattered piece of furniture and drag my feet all the way down the hall to the room he and Zac are in, huddled around Zac’s laptop.

“We played that last night.” Mumbles Zac in response to whichever song Ike just suggested he add to the list.

“We played eighty percent of these songs last night.” Ike reminds him impatiently. “At least that one’s a fan favorite.”

“Whatever, I don’t wanna play it again.”

“I want to put ‘Crazy Beautiful’ on there.” I chime in, earning an eye roll from Zac.

“ _Again_?”

I honestly don’t have the energy to butt heads with him tonight. If he wants to kick up a fuss about putting certain songs on the setlist, I’m not going to fight him. It’s not worth it. I really don’t care what we play as long as we get to play at all.

“Maybe we should play another Christmas song?” Suggests Ike thoughtfully.

“It’s _November_.” Zac and I remind him in unison, and for a moment my heart aches painfully at the memory of how close we were only a year ago, how close we’ve always been.

I don’t know if we ever will be again though, not after everything that happened this past summer.

“It’s bad enough that we have _one_ Christmas song on here already, I don’t wanna turn this into a Christmas concert.”

“But the fans are always asking us to play stuff from ‘Snowed In’, and it’s almost the end of the tour. These next few shows are the closest to a Christmas show we’re gonna get.”

“Fine, put another Christmas song on there.” Zac sighs grudgingly, turning the laptop towards Ike so that he can edit the setlist however he chooses to. “Just try not to screw the rest of it up too much.”

I spend the next twenty minutes sitting on the sidelines, listening to Ike and Zac bicker over which songs to include and in what order. I used to care so much about this kind of thing, I always had to throw my two cents in when it came to deciding on the setlist for each show. But now it feels like the least of my concerns.

They’ve just finished battling it out over ‘Musical Ride’ when my cell phone starts ringing, and even though Zac shoots me a look that makes it obvious he disapproves of me taking a call right now, the sight of Tommy’s picture on the screen of my phone makes it impossible for me not to answer. Never mind the fact that he’s the only person I really want to talk to right now, we’ve mostly relegated all communication to texts and IM conversations these last few weeks because of the extortionate calling charges, so of course I’m curious to know why he’s suddenly decided to pick up the phone.

“Hey! I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“Surprise!” He snickers huskily on the other end of the line, leaving me torn between smiling and frowning.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothin’. I just wanted to hear your voice…”

He sounds strange, kind of breathless, and even though he says nothing is going on, I get the feeling that’s not the whole truth. I also get the feeling that whatever it is, it’s not something I’m going to want to discuss with him while my brothers are in the room. So I get up off of the couch I’ve been parked on for the past half an hour and make my way out of the room.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m awesome.” He tells me in a playful way that sends a shiver down my spine and makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. “Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m getting ready for a show. What’re _you_ doing.”

“Mmm… nothin’. Just… thinking about you.”

It takes me another couple of seconds for me to decipher the tone of his voice and figure out why he sounds the way he does, but even when the realization dawns on me, I still can’t quite believe it.

“Okay, this might be a dumb question, but… are you jerking off right now?” I practically whisper into the phone, my disbelieving accusation met with a soft chuckle of amusement.

“Are _you_?”

“No!” There’s nothing I can do to keep myself from laughing, even though I’m totally shocked that he’d call me like this, out of the blue, apparently in search of phone sex! “What the fuck’s gotten into you? Are you drunk?”

“Try high as a kite and horny as hell.” He informs me unashamedly as I quickly shut myself into the nearest empty room and lock the door.

“What’re you high on?”

“Life.” I roll my eyes, glad that he can’t see the smile on my face because I don’t want him knowing how funny I’m finding him. “And a lil’ bit of weed, also.”

“You’ve been smoking pot?”

“I’m in Amsterdam, it’d be rude not to. It’s like… a national delicacy. It’d be like going to Germany and not drinking beer!”

I guess I can’t argue with that. When we were last in Amsterdam, we all indulged in a little pot, too. (And I may have smoked it more than a handful of times since then …). “So you were feeling a little fuzzy and just thought you’d call me up and breathe down the phone at me like a total perv?”

“Pretty much.” He tells me without apology. “Adam kissed me on stage tonight. Like _really_ fucking kissed me. And I was totally high, and it made me think of you, and… _fuck_ , I wish you were here.”

 _Fuck_ , when he says it like that, I wish I was there, too! Or that he was here. Or that we were somewhere else, alone together. I hear him moan softly, and my eyelids instinctively fall closed as my breath hitches in my throat. I haven’t had phone sex in years, I haven’t needed to. But right now I’m really starting to feel an overpowering and consuming need!

My hand slowly falls to the bulge in the front of my pants, my fingers closing around it and squeezing faintly as I let out a shaky breath and lick my lips. “So… if I was there… what would you want to do to me?”

He breathes a helpless groan, bringing an undeniably smug smile to my face while I unbutton and unzip my jeans and slip my hand inside. “I wanna taste you.”

Now it’s my turn to groan, my hips bucking against my hand automatically as I imagine him on his knees in front of me, his pretty pink lips sliding down the length of me, his tongue teasing me…

“Oh, God…”

“Are you touching yourself?” He asks hopefully, and at first all I can do is nod my head, I’m too caught up in how quickly he’s got me so turned on. But then I realized that me nodding my head isn’t helpful for him, so I release my lower lip from between my teeth and answer him.

“Yeah.” His only response is an appreciative moan, and the sound of it just turns me on even more, causing the steady stroking motion of my hand to pick up its pace. “But I wish I was touching you instead.”

“Mmm… me too.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our mingled breathing. I try to picture us together, but it’s so jumbled. It’s been two months since I last touched him, and I can’t seem to make my mind focus on just one thing, it keeps jumping from one mind-blowing mental image to the next. Each one is better than the last, and with every passing second I’m getting closer and closer, and judging by how quickly his breathing has picked up just from listening to me get more and more worked up, I’d say he’s in the same state.

“Unh, _fuck_ … I want you to fuck me.” It was the last thing I expected to hear him say to me, and even though I’ll admit that the thought of it has crossed my mind before, I didn’t realize just how badly I wanted to do it until now.

“S-say it again.” I plead desperately, my head falling back heavily against the door as my grip on my cell phone tightens until it’s almost painful.

“I want you to fuck me.” He gasps, sending a jolt of uncontrollable pleasure shooting through me as my body begins to tense and I struggle to keep myself from moaning so loudly that everyone out in the hall will know what I’m doing in here.

But it’s impossible for me to hold back when I can hear him starting to unravel on the other end of the line. I bite down hard on my lip, clamping my eyes tightly shut as images of us together flash through my mind. I can see him beneath me as I move inside him, making the sounds that I can hear him making right now and saying my name the way he’s saying it right now…

It’s like I can _feel_ him, the heat, the sweat… I squeeze myself a little tighter as I stroke frantically, imagining that it’s really him surrounding me instead of my own hand but knowing that he would feel so, _so_ much more incredible.

As soon as I hear him come, I’m finished, I can’t stop myself from letting go and no part of me wants to. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten off to the thought of being with him. In fact pretty much every time I’ve jerked off or had sex since we were together in Thackerville, I’ve been imagining that I was with him. But _hearing_ him get off while I do it makes it so much more intense.

“Holy fuck…” He pants, coaxing a lazy smile onto my lips as he chuckles tiredly. “I’m _so_ glad I decided to drunk dial you instead of just taking care of that by myself.”

“I thought you said you were high, not drunk.”

“Eh… bit of both.” He replies mischievously. “Thanks for the helping hand, so to speak. I was seriously _so_ fucking worked up by the end of the show, I thought I was gonna bust a nut on stage.”

“Adam’s that good of a kisser, huh?” I tease, trying to ignore the pangs of jealously I feel whenever I think about the two of them kissing. I know it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just an act, but it still hurts a little.

Maybe more than a little.

“He’s not bad. But I’m pretty sure it has more to do with the fact that I haven’t had sex in like… two months. And no offense to my hand or anything, it tries, but it’s no substitute for you.”

“Ditto.”

“I wanna see you.” He says in an intentionally whiney and pathetic tone, but I can’t fault him for being whiney and pathetic about this when I feel the exact same way. “I _need_ to see you. _Soon_.”

“I know.”

We still have no set plan for when we’ll get to see each other again. He gets back from Europe basically a week after I get back to Tulsa once the tour ends. I know that Natalie isn’t going to want me going anywhere again so soon, especially not when it’ll be right around the time that she’ll be ovulating again. But I’m not sure if either of us can stand to wait much longer than we already have.

Before I can tell him that I’ll try to figure something out and find a way to get out to Los Angeles soon, my phone vibrates, and when I pull it away from my ear I see a text from Ike on the screen.

_Where the hell are you?! We’re on in 5!_

Shit. “I’m sorry, Tommy, I gotta go. We’re about to start the show and I don’t even have my ear monitors on or anything.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure.” He tells me understandingly, though there’s an obvious note of disappointment in his voice. “Have a good show.”

“Thanks.”

After ending our call, I head over to the tiny bathroom at the back of the dressing room to clean up and try to make myself look somewhat calm and collected before venturing out into the hall to find my brothers and get ready to take the stage. They both give me funny looks as I approach, probably because of the satisfied smirk on my face that I doubt I could shake even if I wanted to. But I don’t offer either of them any explanation for my sudden good mood, or for my absence.

Somehow, I don’t think they’d appreciate knowing where I was or what I was doing.


	17. Chapter 17

  


 

 

_ Tulsa, Oklahoma – November 25th, 2010 _

_   
_

Thanksgiving is always crazy around here. But it’s a kind of craziness I’m used to now; it’s the same craziness I grew up with. I went from being one of seven kids, to being a parent of four kids. I’m convinced that there’s very little difference in the level of crazy between the two. It’s hard to notice an increase in the insanity once you have more than three children under the age of ten running around.

I’ve been put in charge of keeping the kids occupied this morning so that Natalie can put the finishing touches on the pecan pies she made to take to my parent’s Thanksgiving dinner this afternoon. Mom generally doesn’t let people contribute much to the proceedings, she’s too set in her ways and too much of a control freak (yeah, I get that from her). But now that she has three daughters-in-law who are almost as set in their ways and controlling as she is, she has to relent and let them do _something_. Which is why we now have three times as many pie options every Thanksgiving as we ever had growing up.

I’m not complaining; I like pie.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Did the pilgrims and the Indian Americans have pie?” Penny asks me as I help River to fit a piece of his Thomas the Tank Engine floor puzzle into place.

“Um…” Is it better to lie about this kind of stuff or tell the truth? She looks so hopeful, I feel like saying no would be the same as telling her that there’s no Santa. “Maybe. I’m not sure what they ate back then, baby. But I’m sure they probably had… some kind of pie.”

“I bet it was pumpkin.” She muses seriously, handing me another piece of the puzzle like a scrub nurse handing a surgeon a scalpel.

“I bet you’re right.” I agree with a soft chuckle, even though I’m still not sure she is.

“It wasn’t pecan like mommy’s, ‘cause pecans hadn’t been invented yet in the older days.”

“Who told you that?”

“Ezzie.”

I don’t need to look over at my eldest to know that he’s guilty as charged. I can hear his proud snickering from here. “Well, maybe _Ezzie_ needs to put down his Wii remote and go brush up on his pecan history.”

“No I don’t!” He protests immediately, glancing at me over his shoulder and flashing me those big, innocent eyes that generally get him whatever he wants. “I won’t lie to her anymore, I promise!”

Before I can taunt him further with the threat of reading about pecans for the rest of the morning, my phone buzzes on the floor beside me, and I glance down to see a text with Tommy’s name on the top. My lips automatically curl into a smile at the sight of it, expecting it to be a ‘Happy Thanksgiving’ message. But as I read what it actually says, my face slowly falls.

_Need to talk. You free?_

My first instinct is to call him, but I know I can’t. My kids aren’t stupid, I can’t talk to him while they’re in the room, even if they’ll only hear half of the conversation. But I can’t leave the room to talk to him, because Ez is only eight-years-old and there’s no way I can leave him to supervise all three of his younger siblings for however long it’ll take me to call Tommy. And Nat made it _very_ clear that it’s my job to watch them this morning so that she can finish her Thanksgiving prep and get some laundry done without having to worry about River and Penny getting into a fighting match over a toy they both want, or Viggo putting something in his mouth that he shouldn’t.

After looking around the room helplessly for a minute, I spot my laptop sitting on the coffee table, and I quickly type a reply to his text.

_Can’t talk on the phone. Can you get on AIM?_

I don’t wait for him to reply and tell me whether or not he can get online, I just grab my laptop and settle on the couch. Ezra is engrossed in his game again, so I know I don’t have to worry about him, Viggo is busy mercilessly beating up his shape sorter because apparently you really _can’t_ fit a circular object into a triangle shaped hole (c’est la vie), and for once Penny and River are playing together nicely without ear splitting screeching and crying every five seconds. I think (hope) they can keep this up just long enough for me to find out what it is Tommy needs to talk about.

I log on to AIM under the username I set up a couple of months ago in order to chat with him. No one else has it, so I don’t have to worry about being bombarded by messages from anyone but him. He’s the only person on my contact list, and I message him immediately when I see him online.

 **lonemirage:** Hi.

 **chaosandcontrol:** hey.

 **chaosandcontrol:** sorry if i’m pulling you away from your family.

 **lonemirage:** Don’t worry about it. What’s going on?

 **chaosandcontrol:** nothing.

My eyebrow quirks at the screen in skepticism, even though we’re not on webcam for him to see it. Why is he pretending that there’s nothing wrong when _he_ asked me if we could talk? There must be _something_ on his mind, otherwise he never would have sent me that text.

 **lonemirage:** Well… not that I have a problem with just chatting if that’s what you wanna do, but you said you needed to talk, so I kinda figured there was something you needed to talk about…?

 **chaosandcontrol:** it’s stupid.

 **lonemirage:** So?

 **chaosandcontrol:** today is thanksgiving.

 **lonemirage:** I know.

 **chaosandcontrol:** and i’m in europe.

 **lonemirage:** I know.

 **chaosandcontrol:** it’s the first thanksgiving i’ve ever spent without my parents.

 **chaosandcontrol:** and it’s the first thanksgiving my mom’s spent without my dad since they got married.

 **lonemirage:** Oh.  :-(

I can’t believe I forgot about that!

 **chaosandcontrol:** it’s not like she spent it alone or anything, she had family with her. but i just called her to say hi and she totally broke down.

 **chaosandcontrol:** it was awful.

 **chaosandcontrol:** i didn’t know what the fuck to say.

 **chaosandcontrol:** i feel like total shit.

I don’t know what the fuck to say, either, and I feel like total shit for it, too. What am I supposed to tell him? I could say that it’s okay, but I doubt he’d be able to believe me. And I could tell him that his mom will be fine, but I don’t know that for sure. I don’t know enough about his family or his dad’s death to tell him anything reassuring because he never talks about any of it.

The subject has come up several times over the last few months, but each and every time he brushes it off before it gets too deep. He’ll talk about his dad in passing, but not about his death or him being sick or how any of it makes him feel. And I try not to press it, because I get the feeling he doesn’t like to think about it too much.

 **lonemirage:** I’m so sorry, Tommy.

 **chaosandcontrol:** i don’t wanna go home.

My brow creases into a bewildered frown as I read over the statement again and again. I have no idea how to take it, it’s probably the last thing I expected him to say.

 **lonemirage:** What do you mean?

 **chaosandcontrol:** i mean i don’t want to go home.

 **chaosandcontrol** **:** i know it makes me an asshole but if i could stay on the road forever i think i would. when i think about going back there it’s like i can’t breathe.

 **lonemirage:** I know the feeling.

Boy, do I know. At some point during the last week of _every_ tour I find myself shut away in the bathroom on the bus, staring at my reflection in the mirror and trying to fend off what feels like a panic attack. Realistically, I know that it won’t be forever, I know that we’ll be out on tour or in New York or L.A. for promo work again within a few months. But it’s difficult to reason with myself when I’m staring down that long, dark tunnel, about to take the first step inside. It seems endless.

 **chaosandcontrol:** i don’t know how to be there without him. he was sick for a long time before he died, but at least he was still THERE ya know? and now he won’t be and everything will be weird.

 **lonemirage:** But you’ve been home since he died, right?

 **chaosandcontrol:** yeah but that was different. it was only for a few days. i knew that i’d be back on tour again in less than a week. it was like having a light at the end of the tunnel or something. it was like it wasn’t even real, like this was my life and that was just this pause in reality. but it isn’t, it’s the other way around.

If it didn’t hurt so badly to know how much he’s struggling with this, I might be smiling right now at how similar we are and how much I can relate to everything he’s saying. It’s like he just read my mind. But before I can tell him that I honestly understand, and that I’m here for him if he needs to talk, I hear a high pitched squeal of discontent coming from one of my children.

“Give it back!”

“No, it’s mine!”

“Hey, hey! What’s going on?” I ask, setting the laptop down on the coffee table and walking over to Penny and River, who are practically rolling around in the middle of the family room, wrestling over what looks like the last piece of the puzzle they’ve been doing.

“He took the puzzle piece I had!” Weeps Penny, pointing accusingly at her little brother.

“It’s my puzzle! I wanna do it myself!” River declares with a pout as he folds his little arms across his chest defiantly.

“But I wanna put in the last piece! I did more of it than _he_ did.”

“River, buddy, I need you to let Penny help you put the last piece of the puzzle in, okay?”

“No!”

_Take a breath, Taylor. They feed on frustration!_

“Well, either you guys put the last piece of the puzzle in together, or I’m gonna have to take it until you can be nice to each other. So what’s it gonna be?” I ask in my most reasonable tone. “Are you gonna help each other, or are we gonna be all done here?”

River continues to stare at Penny with a petulant and resentful little glare on his face. I know it’s wrong for me to find it cute when he does this, but it _is_! He seems to be under the impression that he looks like a real tough guy right now, and in reality he’s anything but. And eventually Penny’s giant, tear-filled puppy eyes and trembling lower lip render him helpless. Like father, like son.

“Okay. You can help.” He concedes with a heavy, resigned sigh, and I watch approvingly as the two of them place the puzzle piece in the last empty space together before taking a step back to observe their handiwork proudly.

“Let’s do another one!” Penny proposes excitedly, and within seconds she and River are tearing into the puzzle they just completed and throwing it haphazardly back into the box.

“Careful with that.” I warn them as I walk back over to the couch and retrieve my laptop. “Don’t lose any pieces.”

The smile on my face quickly vanishes when I turn my attention to the screen and see that Tommy has sent a couple more messages during my absence. And clearly he’s taken the prolonged silence on my part as a negative judgment on what he’s just told me. Though how he can think that I would _ever_ be able to judge him after all of the understanding he’s shown me and after everything I’ve confided in him is a mystery to me. ****

 **chaosandcontrol:** fuck.

 **chaosandcontrol:** i’m such an ASSHOLE!

 **lonemirage:** No, you’re not!

 **chaosandcontrol:** yes, I am. i’m an asshole spending thanksgiving in another country from his whole family, who can’t even comfort his grieving mom over the phone and is afraid of going back home because he doesn’t wanna deal with how shitty it’ll feel to really face the fact that his dad is dead.

 **chaosandcontrol:** not to mention the fact that i just pulled a married guy away from his wife and kids on a family holiday to bitch and moan about my pathetic emotional problems when i have no right to.

 **lonemirage:** You’re NOT an asshole!

 **lonemirage:** And you have as much right to bitch and moan about your problems as anyone else.

 **chaosandcontrol:** i didn’t mean that. i meant that i have NO right taking you away from them. you’re not mine.

 **lonemirage:** I am.

I didn’t even have to think twice before typing it, it was the first thing that came to mind the second I read what he’d written. But as soon as I hit send, I wonder if maybe he’ll be freaked out by it. I didn’t mean to come on too strong, but this is definitely the closest I’ve ever come to telling him how I feel about him. What if that was the wrong thing to say?

He hasn’t responded.

Then again, _how_ is he supposed to respond to that?!

I’m such a fucking idiot sometimes.

Maybe I’m overreacting, though. It’s only been thirty seconds, and-

 **chaosandcontrol:** i miss you so fucking much.            

Thank God!

 **lonemirage:** I miss you too.

 **chaosandcontrol:** i should let you get back to your family.

I know he’s right, and I should get back to spending time with my kids rather than basically ignoring them in favor of IMing with the guy who I’m, let’s face it, having an affair with. When I think about it that way, it makes me feel like the scum on the Earth. I’m sitting here in my living room, chatting to the guy I’m in love with, while my children play five feet away and my wife slaves away in the kitchen to make dessert for my family’s Thanksgiving. But as guilty as I feel, and as wrong as I _know_ it is… I _still_ don’t want to stop.

 **lonemirage:** I want to talk to you.

 **chaosandcontrol:** i guess we both probably need to start doing more of the things we don’t want to do huh?

 **lonemirage:** Probably.                                                                        

 **chaosandcontrol:** sorry again for all this.

 **lonemirage:** Stop apologizing. I’m GLAD you told me.

 **chaosandcontrol:** me too.

I swear it gets more and more difficult to say goodbye every damn time we have to do it. It doesn’t matter if it’s over the phone, on webcam, or through text or IM, it always seems to take us forever to actually end the conversation after we’ve reached the conclusion that one (or both) of us needs to go.

 **lonemirage:** I’ll call you later, okay? I guess it’ll be tomorrow wherever you are.

 **chaosandcontrol:** ok.

 **chaosandcontrol:** thanks, taylor.

 **lonemirage:** Anytime.

 **chaosandcontrol:** nite.

 **lonemirage:** Goodnight.

Even after his name disappears from the online contacts list, I sit and stare at the screen as though I’m expecting to see him say something else. I know it’s pathetic, but I can’t help the fact that our conversations never last long enough and never happen anywhere near as frequently as I would prefer them to. Never mind the fact that it’s now been over two months since I last saw him in person. I try not to dwell on that too much because it makes me feel overwhelmingly restless and antsy, which is something I need to avoid when there’s absolutely nothing I can do to remedy it.

Except that maybe now there is…

For the rest of the day, I put on my ‘Father of the Year’ t-shirt and my ‘Loving Husband’ hat (not _literally_ , but you get the point), and head over to my parent’s house with all of my brothers and sisters (and sisters-in-law and nieces and nephews) for our traditional family thanksgiving celebration. I usually like this time of year, and not just because I enjoy eating. I like that fall is full of change, and there’s always something happening, whether it’s the holidays or simply the leaves falling from the trees. There’s something different to look forward to almost every day, it seems. It breaks up the monotony and makes the time move faster.

But this year is more of a struggle than last year, or the year before that. I don’t know if I’m imagining it or if it’s because I really do have somewhere else specific I’d rather be right now (or someone else specific I’d rather be with).

By the time Nat and I arrive home just after nine o’clock, and we’ve put every last member of our semi-conscious brood to bed, I’ve made up my mind about how I want to handle this feeling, and summoned up the courage required to actually say the words out loud.

“I need to head out to L.A. for a few days next week.” I tell her as I step up to the his-and-hers vanity in our bathroom, avoiding her eyes in the mirror while I grab the toothpaste and squirt some onto the bristles of my toothbrush.

I hear her freeze mid-brush, and a moment later she spits the toothpaste out of her mouth. “But you only just got back!”

“I know.” I murmur awkwardly, raising my own toothbrush to my mouth slowly. “But… a friend of mine is going through a hard time and he needs someone to talk to.”

“Can’t you just talk over the phone?” She asks miserably, and I can feel her eyes on me as I keep my own focused on the small crack in the bottom of the sink in front of me, scrubbing viciously at my back teeth.

“It’ll only be for a few days.”

“But I’m going to be ovulating next week. Don’t you _want_ to have another baby?”

Great. Now not only do I feel like shit, I also have to lie about more than one thing!

“We can always just try again next month.”

“But-“

“His dad just died, Nat.” It’s not _entirely_ untrue. His dad did just die. Four months ago. But he hasn’t really dealt with it all yet, so it may as well have been more recent. It’s also the only real excuse I could come up with that will likely garner enough sympathy from her to win her over. “I know it’s not the best timing, but I really feel like I should go.”

When I chance a look at her reflection in the mirror, I can see the disappointment and rejection in her eyes. And even though I was certain that I couldn’t feel any worse, I do. I’m a lousy human being, I _know_ that. I deserve to burn in the lowest level of hell for what I’m doing to her and to our kids. And even to Tommy. But I don’t know how to stop. I can’t bring myself to tell her that I won’t go if she doesn’t want me to, because I know that he _will_ want me to.

“Okay.” She finally relents, placing her toothbrush daintily back into the holder between us. “I guess we can wait until the New Year to try for a baby.” A small smile creeps onto her face as she steps over to me and pecks me on the cheek. “Maybe we’ll have better luck in 2011, huh?”

 


	18. Chapter 18

  


 

 

_ Burbank, California – November 30th, 2010 _

_   
_

I didn’t tell him.

I got on a plane, and flew out to Los Angeles, and rented a car, and showed up at his apartment… and I thought it’d be a _really_ great idea to neglect to tell him that I was doing any of that. Because I’m me, and I tend to have all of these big ideas that seem awesome in theory, but then when I put them into practice… not so much. And it’s usually worse when I put them into practice without putting more than five minutes of thought into them.

Which was the case with this brilliant plan.

I managed to get his address from him last week by telling him that I wanted to send him a belated birthday present (lame, I know, but at least he fell for it). And then I casually inquired about what time his flight got into LAX today because I didn’t want to call him while he was still on the plane, but I also didn’t want to call him before his feet had even had a chance to touch solid, American ground again. Well… that was the story I went with, at least. In reality I just wanted to know what time he’d be landing so that I could try to figure out when he’d be home so that I could be here to surprise him.

And all that seemed like an awesome idea until about two seconds ago when a car pulled up in front of my parked rental and I saw him step out onto the street.

I watch as he walks over to the driver’s side window and leans in, probably to kiss goodbye whoever gave him a ride home. I can tell just from the way he moves as he walks back towards the trunk to get his bags that he’s completely exhausted. His hair is a mess, and I’m betting that beneath his shades are two very tired (and possibly even unmade-up) eyes. But he still looks amazing. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I haven’t seen him in person for over two months, or the soft glow that the slowly setting sun is casting over him, or just _him_ , but that first glimpse I get of him is literally breathtaking.

After heaving his luggage out of the car, he steps up onto the sidewalk, where two of his fellow travelers have gotten out of the car and are waiting for him. I recognize the first one as Taylor (yeah, it’s kind of confusing). I met him back in Thackerville when I went to see the show there. He and Tommy share a long hug and a quick peck on the lips before he steps aside to allow Tommy to say goodbye to the other guy, who I’m pretty sure I’ve never met before. He’s about the same height as Tommy, and sporting a black beanie and a big, white smile so wide it looks like it hurts. They hug for just as long as Tommy and Taylor did, and even kiss goodbye, too. But somehow there’s something a little different about the exchange, something a little less playful. They clearly share a great deal of affection.

I wonder if that’s Isaac. (No, not my brother Isaac. I told you it was confusing!)

Eventually, Taylor and the guy with the huge grin get back into the car, and Tommy waves to them as they disappear down the street. And that’s when I start to panic. What if he’s annoyed at me for showing up unannounced? I just assumed that he’d be happy about it; we’re always talking about how we wish we could see each other. But he _just_ got home from a month long trip to Europe. He’s probably been travelling for half a day, at least, and I doubt me jumping out of a rental car in front of his apartment and shouting ‘surprise!’ (not that I planned to do that, but you get the point) is something he’s really in the mood for right now.

But I came here for a reason.

He was dreading this moment. He was dreading the end of the tour, and the knowledge that he would have to return to his “real life” indefinitely. I wanted to be here for him, because I understand almost _exactly_ what he’s afraid of, and not to sound self-important or anything, but I might just be the only person in his life right now who _really_ gets it. For once I want to be a shoulder for _him_ to cry on (literally or not) if he needs it. And right now, as I sit here and stare at him standing alone on the sidewalk, surrounded by the bags he’s been living out of for almost six months, the remains of the life he’s been leading, I can tell he needs someone who understands what that gaping hole in his chest feels like.

With a deep breath, I open the car door and get out, but it’s not until he hears the door close that he turns around to see who’s behind him. For a moment, everything seems to be on pause. He just stands there and stares at me, his body frozen, and I’m too anxious to do anything besides stare back at him like a mindless idiot.

“Okay… are you like really standing there, or am I just so sleep deprived at this point that I’m seeing things?”

I don’t bother to reply to the question, even though he sounds so genuinely uncertain that it makes me want to laugh. Instead, I walk over to him and pull him into a hug. It takes him a second or two to move, his body remains almost lifeless in my arms. But as soon as it sinks in for him that I’m real, and the hug is real, and that he’s not alone anymore, he’s holding onto me so tightly that it’s hard to even breathe. And I swear to _God_ this is what heaven feels like. I hear him laugh, a soft breath of relief against my ear right before he buries his face in the crook of my neck.

“What’re you doing here?” He asks, and I can clearly hear that his voice is unsteady, even though it’s muffled by my jacket.

“I thought you might need a hug.”

His response is to hold me even tighter, which I didn’t realize was possible. “Thank you.”

We stand there like that, in the middle of the sidewalk, for what has to be at least another couple of minutes. I think we’re both way too happy to actually be in each other’s presence again, and maybe we’re both just a little bit scared that if we let go we’re going to find out that this was all in our heads. But we can’t stay out here on the street all night, and I’m sure that he’s in desperate need of a comfortable bed and a good night’s sleep. So I reluctantly start to pull away, giving him a moment to loosen his grip before I take a step back and look down at this face.

“Tired?”

“Oh my God, _so_ tired.” He admits, sighing deeply for added emphasis. “I tried to sleep on the plane, but it’s so fucking uncomfortable. And it’s like…” I smirk as he emits some strange groaning noise and reaches up to push his shades out of the way in order to rub his eyes. “Shit, I don’t know. How many hours ahead are they in London?”

“Eight.” I confirm for him sympathetically, picking up what looks like the heaviest of the bags at his feet and helping him pull the other back onto his shoulder as he leads me towards the apartment building behind us.

“Right, so I’m existing in two _totally_ different time zones right now. My body’s here, but my brain is still in London. It’s like one am in my brain!”

God, he’s so fucking adorable. “And you’re _tired_? Jeez, twenty-nine is not treating you well, huh?”

“Dude, shut up!” He exclaims defensively, trying hard to hide his amusement. He’s lucky he has his shades on, otherwise I know I’d be able to see the laughter in his eyes. “I partied hard in my youth and I’m paying for it now. No one ever told me that we’re put on this Earth with a maximum number of sleepless nights we can burn through before we turn into our fucking sixty-year-old selves, okay? Besides, I’m a goddamn rock star; show a little respect!”

“I’m carrying your bag for you! What more do you want?”

“You could at least _pretend_ to like cry or something. And where the hell is my gleeful child?! I’ve seen youtube videos of soldiers coming home from Iraq, and they _never_ have to put up with this shit.”

For being completely exhausted, he’s still incredibly sassy, and I find myself laughing at the petulant pout and scowl on his face as we come to a stop outside his door. All I really want to say right now is the one thing I’ve been waiting to say to him for well over a month. But when I open my mouth, my mind decides to switch out the most important word in the statement with one that’s just as true and yet far less terrifying to say.

“I missed you.”

His pout disappears, morphing into a warm smile as he gazes back at me from behind the darkness of his shades. “I missed you, too.”

I thought that I’d be able to wait until we were safely inside the privacy of his apartment before I kissed him. But with every passing second, it’s becoming harder and harder to maintain my self-control. His lips look amazing, even without the gloss on them that I’ve become so used to. And the soft smile they’re curled into makes me feel warm all over, like I’m standing beneath a bright ray of sunshine, or someone just wrapped me in a huge fleece blanket. I know it sounds stupid and sappy, but I don’t know how else to describe it! A lot of the things he makes me feel _are_ stupid and sappy.

I wonder if he knows just how tempting he looks right now…

“Taylor?”

“Hmm?”

“If you’re done staring at my mouth… I kinda need to do something with it.”

“Huh?”

I manage to snap myself out of my stupor just in time to see him leaning towards me, his body, his _lips_ getting closer and closer as the anticipation begins to swell in my chest. He’s going to kiss me. For the first time in almost ten weeks, his lips are going to be pressed against mine, and I’m going to be left breathless while feeling like I can finally breathe for the first time in months all at once. I’ll admit, I’ve watched countless videos of him kissing Adam on stage since I last saw him in Portland in September. I told myself that I wouldn’t anymore after the first time I did it, because it made me feel like crap. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself from checking for new videos of him on youtube every few days. I’d imagine that it was me that he was kissing that way, my nose that his was grazing, my tongue that his was teasing, my eyes that he was staring into.

I can’t believe I’m mere inches away from everything I’ve imagined becoming a reality.

But just as my skin begins to tingle at the sensation of his breath on my lips, the door beside us swings open and we both instinctively pull back to see who it is that we have to thank for the interruption.

“Oh… shit.” A very confused looking guy glances back and forth between us while Tommy sighs irritably and awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “Hey…”

“Hey.”

“You’re back!”

“Yup.”

“And you brought a… friend.” He smiles at me uncertainly, dismissing the moment with a wave of his hand as he begins to close the door again. “Don’t mind me. As you were.”

Like that’s even a possibility.

“Sorry.” Tommy apologizes in a near mumble as the door clicks shut, his shoulders sagging in disappointment. “That was my roommate.”

“I figured.”

“If it’s too weird for you, we can just go to a hotel or something…?”

A hotel room would probably make more sense as far as privacy goes. I don’t even know his roommate’s name, so I don’t know how I’m supposed to trust him to keep his mouth shut about this. Then again, I’m pretty sure most of Adam’s ‘entourage’ knows that something is going on between us at this point, and none of them have said a word to anyone. If Tommy trusts them, I feel like I can, too.

Or maybe some part of me is just self-destructive enough to _want_ the whole world to find out.

“It’s okay.” I assure him with a smile. “You’re tired, I don’t wanna drag you to a hotel when your own bed is right here.”

“Okay, well…” With a deep breath, he reaches out and turns the door knob. “Let’s get this over with.”

He opens the door and I follow him inside, slowly taking it all in as we step into his living room. The walls are that same, generic “off-white” that most apartments tend to be, but they’re mostly hidden by movie posters and memorabilia anyway. The furniture is somewhat mismatched, but it all seems to go together in its own way. Although most of it is buried beneath various kinds of instruments and cases. Normally I’d want to stop and look at every last one of them, play them, talk about them, get lost in the one thing about my life that _always_ makes sense.

But not today.

“Dave, this is Taylor.” Tommy introduces us briefly, not even pausing to let us shake hands before he grabs me by the sleeve of my jacket and leads me across the room while Dave waves awkwardly from the breakfast bar by the kitchen. “Taylor, that’s Dave.”

“Hi.” I offer him a small smile and he nods in acknowledgement.

“Welcome home, dude.”

“Thanks, man! See you tomorrow!”

And with that, another door closes behind us and I find myself in his bedroom. Which looks like a tornado hit it. In the middle of an earthquake. After a hurricane blew through.

“Oh… yeah.” He stops dead in his tracks and finally pulls off his shades, apparently having forgotten what it looked like in here. “Sorry about the mess, I kinda trashed it last time I was home. I didn’t have time to do laundry and repack _and_ clean up the resulting chaos, so… I prioritized.”

“It’s fine.” I chuckle softly, surveying the damage as he picks his way through the discarded shirts, hoodies and jeans towards the bed, dumping his bag on the floor somewhere along the way. “I do well with chaos.”

The glance he casts my way over his shoulder, and the accompanying smirk, is nothing but flirtatious. “I bet.”

I can’t believe he’s flirting with me like something besides sleep is gonna happen on that bed the second his head hits the pillow. But I guess he can’t help himself; he’s been flirting with me pretty much since the moment we met. I’m not complaining.

He shrugs off his jacket and climbs onto the bed fully clothed, collapsing on top of the sheets like someone just pulled a rug out from under him. I’m kind of surprised that he doesn’t start snoring immediately. Instead, he looks over at me again, gesturing with a single motion of his head for me to get my ass over there and join him, and he doesn’t need to tell me twice. After peeling off my own jacket and looking for somewhere to put it, I realize that the chances of finding a vacant surface to set it down on are slim. So I drop it on the floor with the other rumpled clothes and make my way over to the bed as he folds his arms comfortably behind his head and watches me.

That’s when I notice his new tattoo.

I’ve seen it before, but only in the picture he sent me on his phone right after he got it done. It’s kinda hard to miss; it extends almost all the way from his elbow to his armpit, and it’s not exactly subtle. It’s Count Orlok from Nosferatu, and I can’t help but laugh softly as I shift closer to him on the mattress and tilt my head slightly to give it the close inspection it deserves. It really is a cool tattoo, there’s so much precision and detail in it. In fact, all of his tattoos are that way, and it makes me wish that I had the guts to get one myself.

“I still can’t believe you have all these horror movie characters permanently etched into your skin.” I remark in amusement, running my finger lightly over Count Orlok’s lumpy, bald head and causing Tommy to giggle in the most adorable way, a way I don’t think I’ve ever even heard before. “I don’t think I could ever do anything like that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s just so… final. I always worry that in twenty years I won’t like whatever I get a tattoo of.”

He smiles sleepily and rolls his eyes at me. “Nothing’s final until you’re dead. And even then I’m pretty sure there’s some wiggle room.”

“I still think it’s so cool how you just… do whatever you want, you know? You want a tattoo of John Wayne on your arm, you get a tattoo of John Wayne on your arm. You don’t worry about what you’ll think of it ten years from now, you just go for it.”

“It’s not like I’m gonna get a tattoo of Lady Gaga or something. John Wayne is like… the shit. He’s not a fad, he’s the _man_!”

“I know,” I smirk, shaking my head at his serious expression. “But even if it was something classic, I still don’t think I could do it. Our fans get these _huge_ tattoos of our logo and our lyrics… and I think it’s awesome and everything, but sometimes I just wanna ask them if they ever worry that they’ll regret it when they’re fifty and they don’t even listen to our music anymore, you know?”

“Did you ever think that maybe _you’re_ something classic to them?”

That’s actually not a word I’d probably ever use to describe myself or our band. I know that our fans love us, and for some of them we’ve been in their live since they were kids, we grew up with them. It’s not a phase, it really is love, in some form or another. It’s dedication, it’s… a relationship, I guess. It’s not always perfect or easy, and sometimes we piss each other off and do things the other doesn’t like. But we don’t give up and walk away, because we’re in this together. We have been from the start.

“You’re something classic to me.” He announces playfully, his tattoo disappearing from view as he rolls onto his side to look at me, his smiling face getting closer and closer to mine. “I’ll get your face tattooed on my ass if you want proof. I’ll even let you choose which cheek!”

“No, thanks.” I laugh softly, lowering my voice to a near whisper when my lips brush ever so lightly against his. “I like your ass just the way it is.”

“Ditto.”

I’ve been expecting this kiss to be explosive, because it’s been months in the making. I thought that when it finally happened, it would be so urgent and uncontrollable that it probably wouldn’t stop until we were lying in a sated heap of post-sex bliss. But it’s not that way at all. It’s slow and lazy, our mouths melding and moving in time with each other so fluidly, like a well rehearsed dance of some kind. My heart is pounding in my chest at one hundred miles a minute, but my breathing remains calm and even. I feel completely content, as though I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life, and now that it’s here I can finally relax. I can stop running, stop trying, stop faking everything, just _stop_ and exist.

Eventually, his kisses become even slower, and I can tell that he’s losing the very gallant fight he’s put up to stay awake. When I reluctantly pull my lips away from his, he breathes a somewhat sad and yet still completely satisfied sigh and lets he head fall easily to my shoulder.

“Don’t go anywhere, okay?” He yawns, rolling even nearer as his body molds itself to mine.

I know he’s not talking about tomorrow or next week, he’s only talking about tonight. He just wants to know that when he wakes up from the well earned slumber he’s about to slip into, I’ll still be here.

But I still wish that I could promise him something more.

“I won’t.”

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

  


 

 

He slept soundly all night, but I lay awake for hours. And when he shifted even closer to me in his sleep, subconsciously seeking warmth, it made it even more difficult for me to fall asleep. It wasn’t because I was uncomfortable; his body fit much too perfectly against mine for it to have been uncomfortable in any way. In fact, it was precisely how right it felt and how comfortable I was that made it impossible for me to switch my mind off. My thoughts went in circles, over and over, from wishing I could stay indefinitely, to berating myself for even thinking about it when I knew it couldn’t happen. But no matter how many times I mentally reprimanded myself for getting swept up in the idea of abandoning my entire life and moving to Los Angeles, I kept doing it! The thought of it made my heart race with excitement, it was almost like finally seeing a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel that I’d resigned myself to _never_ escaping from. Images of how everything could be different began to flood my mind as I ran towards it, faster and faster…

But no matter how fast I ran, I never got any closer to the light.

I’m not sure what time it was when I finally fell asleep, but when I open my eyes again it’s morning. At least, I think it is. Either that or there’s a really bright street light shining through his bedroom window. Tommy’s not curled up against me anymore, he must have rolled over in the middle of the night, and I don’t know if not having him so close is going to make it more or less difficult for me to keep my mind from spiraling downward the way it did last night.

But I know I’m not gonna lie here and wait to find out.

It feels kind of strange to wander around someone else’s apartment without them knowing it. I mean, I know he knows I’m here, but he doesn’t know I’m awake right now, and I don’t know if he’d be okay with me going into the kitchen and just helping myself to a glass of water.

Except that I _do_ know, and of course he would, because he’s not an asshole.

 _Why_ am I always second guessing myself and everything I do?! It’s just a glass of freakin’ water, it’s not like I’m going through his personal property and looking at his bank statements! How did I get to be so damn uptight? I wasn’t always this way, but I can’t even pinpoint when I turned into this tense, over-anxious, work-a-holic mess of a person.

I just know I don’t want to be this guy anymore.

After carefully getting off of the bed and checking to make sure that it didn’t wake him up, I make my way across his disaster area of a bedroom and open the door as slowly and quietly as possible. I’ve just finished pulling it closed again behind me when I hear a voice that shocks me so much I almost scream like a total girl.

“Hey.” Tommy’s roommate greets me through a mouthful of cereal, and I offer him a timid smile as I turn to face him. “How’s it goin’?”

“Uh… okay.”

He’s looking at me like he knows I did something I shouldn’t have, even though I didn’t.

Not really.

Well, okay, I kinda did. But it’s not the something he’s insinuating I did with that smirk of his. And he _knows_ I didn’t do what he’s making it seem like I did, because he would’ve heard it if I had, and there wasn’t anything to hear!

“I just wanted to get a glass of water.” I explain more guiltily than I have any real reason to, taking a few slow steps towards the breakfast bar he’s sitting at.

He nods understandingly, his eyes following my every move. “Sure, help yourself. Glasses are in the cupboard by the sink.”

I know I should be used to people watching me so closely by now, they’ve been doing it since I was a kid. Except usually they’re pointing some form of recording device at me. But he’s not watching me because I’m Taylor Hanson and I’m semi-famous. And he’s not _just_ watching me, he’s observing me, studying me, sizing me up and trying to decide what to think. And since he’s roommates and friends with a guy I happen to be very slightly insanely crazy about, I actually care about whatever conclusion he’s going to come to.

The room is silent for a moment, aside from the abnormally loud sounding water as I turn on the faucet and fill the glass in my hand. When I’m done, I turn to face him (because what else am I supposed to do?), and he flashes me another smile. But it’s one of those smiles that you know is just for show, it’s polite but probably not heartfelt.

This is awkward.

“So…” Oh boy, he’s gonna try and initiate a conversation. Smile, Taylor! Pretend you’re not totally dreading the next words out of his mouth. “Did you like… meet Tommy in Europe, or on the flight back or something?”

“Um… no, we actually met in New York a few months ago. I was just in town and… thought I’d look him up.”

He nods a little, his brow crinkling ever so slightly as he considers what I’ve said. “So you live in New York?”

“Tulsa.”

“As in Oklahoma?” He asks in confusion, the lines on his forehead becoming more prominent.

“That’s the one, yeah…”

It’s pretty obvious that this is making absolutely _no_ sense to him. Not that I can really blame him for being bewildered; his straight roommate just arrived home from a month long trip to Europe accompanied by a guy he’s never met before (who he then immediately proceeded to smuggle away into his bedroom), who apparently didn’t go to Europe with him, and who lives in Oklahoma, but met him in New York, and happened to be in Los Angeles at the exact time he arrived back from tour.

“Huh.”

Yup.  He’s totally lost.

“I’m in a band, too.” I try to explain somewhat casually. “We tour a lot, and our paths kinda happened to cross a few times this year.”

“Right…”

He still seems a little skeptical. Probably because that oh-so-innocent account of our relationship doesn’t explain why he opened the door and found us on the verge of kissing last night, or why I just emerged from a fourteen hour stint in Tommy’s bedroom.

Aaaand he just noticed my wedding ring.

 _Awesome_.

Note to self: use right hand for _everything_ from now on.

“Well…” He heaves a deep sigh, picking up his now empty cereal bowl and walking towards me to put it in the sink. “I gotta run. Rehearsal.” I nod and try to smile a little, but everything feels even more forced now than it did before he realized I’ve turned his roommate into an adulterer. “There’s coffee in the pot if you want some. It might be cold now, but help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

I feel like I’m holding my breath as I try to keep the friendly expression on my face until he’s out of the apartment, and the second the door closes behind him, I let myself exhale. My whole body slumps exhaustedly against the kitchen counter behind me, and I stare down into my half-empty glass of water.

Half-empty…

When did I stop being a glass half-full person?

Thankfully I don’t have time to contemplate that thought any further, because almost as soon as it enters my head, Tommy comes out of his bedroom. A genuine smile graces my lips for the first time all day at the sight of his out of control hair and the sleepy expression of confusion on his face as his eyes sweep around the living room before finally settling on me.

“Fuck.” He sighs with what appears to be relief, rubbing his tired eyes as he pads across the room. “I thought you left.”

“Sorry, can’t get rid of me that easily.”

With a roll of his eyes, he wordlessly takes the glass of water out of my hands and finishes nearly all of what’s left in a single gulp. Again, I find myself practically grinning because it just feels so fucking natural, like this happens all the time.

“How’re you feeling?” I ask as he lowers the glass from his now distractingly wet lips. “You were out for almost fifteen hours.”

“You know that feeling you get when you sleep too long and it’s almost worse than not sleeping enough?”

I think I know where this is going. “Yes.”

“Like that. But with a family-sized side of jetlag.”

“Can I get you anything?”

He chuckles softly, refilling the glass with water before making his way over to sit at the breakfast bar. “Aren’t I supposed to be asking _you_ that, since you’re the guest here?”

“ _I’m_ not jetlagged though.” I point out matter-of-factly, already opening cupboard doors in search of some mugs so that I can pour us both some of this potentially shitty coffee. “Aside from over-rested, how are you feeling?”

“Hungry. And gross. I need a shower _so_ freakin’ bad.”

“Okay.” I smirk, shaking my head at his very blunt response. I was actually referring to his emotions more than his basic bodily needs, but I guess we can work up to that. “So do you wanna have breakfast and then take a shower, or do you wanna take a shower while I make breakfast?”

“The first.” He replies almost without hesitation as I place a mug of coffee in front of him. “I’d feel too weird letting you make breakfast for me.”

“But I don’t mind!”

“I do! You flew all the way out here-”

Is he serious? “Oh, yeah. That three hour flight was a total _bitch_.”

Despite flashing me a playful glare, he continues undeterred. “And then you spent like half the night bored out of your mind while I was in a post-tour coma.”

He’d probably find it strange if I said that I wasn’t bored at all, and that I’d choose watching him sleep over watching any TV show or movie he could name. Even I think it’s strange. So I keep my mouth shut.

“I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“Yeah, well… I figured that the closer it got to Christmas, the less likely it’d be that either of us would be able to find time to get away from things.” I lie with a nonchalant shrug, focusing my attention on the dark brown, lukewarm liquid in my mug as I lean against the counter in front of him. Only it’s not really a lie, it’s the truth. It’s just not the reason I came here. “And I knew you weren’t exactly looking forward to coming back, so I just… wanted to be here in case you needed anything.”

When I eventually summon the nerve to look up at him, he’s staring down into his own coffee mug, and I have no idea what’s going on in his head. I can see a hint of a smile on his lips, but there’s something undeniably melancholy about it. Maybe he’s thinking about the fact that the tour is over now, or about his fears of being home on a more permanent basis for the first time since his father’s death. Or maybe it’s both.

Damnit.

I have a real gift for saying the wrong thing.

“How long are you staying?” He finally asks, his voice small, his eyes still avoiding mine.

I want to say “as long as you want” or “indefinitely”, but we both know I can’t. “Three days.”

After taking a long moment to decide how he feels about that information, his eyes meet mine and he offers me the most sincere smile I think he’s probably capable of right now. “That’s the longest we’ve spent together since we met.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Ten bucks says you’re sick of me by the end of the day.”

“Twenty says you’re sick of me before lunchtime.” I challenge teasingly, and his smile spreads a little wider in response. “Speaking of getting sick of me, I don’t want you to think I’m inviting myself to stay here or anything. I have a hotel room booked.”

“Well you should probably call and cancel, unless you like wasting money.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“I do!”

God he’s cute when he’s indignant. “You _just_ got home, you need some space-”

“Like fuck I need space! I spent most of this year living off of a bus, I wouldn’t know what the hell to even _do_ with space anymore!”

“Still, I don’t wanna impose. You have a roommate and-”

“Dave?” He frowns at me as though I’m speaking a totally different language to him. “He won’t care.”

I breathe a soft, awkward chuckle as I set my mug down and rub the back of my neck. I feel tense just thinking about out little encounter this morning. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“What do you mean? Did he say something to you?”

“No. He just… seemed a little weirded out by the whole thing.”

He shakes his head dismissively, taking another sip of coffee. “That’s not about you, that’s just his face.”

“Tommy-”

“I’m serious! He _always_ looks weirded out, it’s just like… his default expression or something.”

“They’re probably still gonna charge me for the room now anyway, even if I cancel.”

“Okay, then we’ll _both_ stay at the hotel.”

Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to win this argument no matter what I say? And why am I even _trying_ to win it?! I know I like to be right, but in this situation it would definitely be better for me to just concede victory to him. Unfortunately, spending my whole life in a band with my brothers has left me incapable of actually _saying_ “I give up” or “you win” or anything even remotely similar, so I’m just going to have to stay quiet and hope that he realizes I’ve surrendered to him.

“So it’s settled.” He declares smugly, slipping off of the stool he was perched on and walking into the kitchen to stand in front of me, the self-satisfied smirk on his lips making them look even more kissable than usual. “You’re staying.”

“I guess so.”

It’s insane how good he can look even when he just rolled out of bed. This is the most unkempt I’ve ever seen him, without a shred of makeup on, at least twenty four hours worth of stubble shadowing his jaw, his hair sticking up and falling in random directions on both sides of his head instead of just perfectly framing the right side of his face the way it usually does. And somehow, in spite of all that (or maybe even because of it), he’s beautiful.

My hand reaches up without me giving it a second thought, and his big, brown eyes follow it curiously as it moves towards his unruly hair. For a moment I absent-mindedly play with a few strands, smoothing them back into place before allowing my fingers to slowly trail across the side of his face, and I feel the apple of his cheek rise with a smile beneath my touch.

“I changed my mind.”

“You don’t want me to stay here?” I frown, my eyes searching his uncertainly.

“I was talking about breakfast. I wanna take a shower first after all.”

“So you want me to make breakfast while you’re in the shower?”

He gives me this flirty little look, his face full of mischief as he shakes his head at me in a “you’re so slow” kind of way. “Not unless you know how to make toast in the shower without it getting soggy.”

“No, I…”

 _Oh_.

I don’t have a chance to even pretend that I totally got what he was implying, because the next thing I know he’s grabbing me by my t-shirt and pulling me into that overpowering, overwhelming, uncontrollably passionate kiss I’d been imagining we’d have the moment we were reunited. I fall into step with him automatically, letting my hands drop to his waist, grasping at him and trying to pull him impossibly close. He starts to lead me out of the kitchen, but we’re both so over-eager that we try to make the turn too fast and end up backing into the corner of the countertop. He gasps in discomfort, but before I can ask him if he’s okay, his mouth is on mine again and his kisses are even more hungry than before.

He’s putting _everything_ he has into this embrace, including his pain, I can feel it. It’s so consuming that I can barely breathe, but I still want more. I want everything he has, all of him, and _more_. I can’t get enough. It’s like everything I’ve been wanting to feel for the last ten years, everything I was once capable of feeling and then lost somewhere along the way is right here.

It’s him.

Between the kitchen and the bathroom our shirts get discarded and our pants are impatiently undone, and I’m glad that we don’t have to bother with untying shoe laces or tugging off boots, because this is already taking too long for me. He almost trips as I try to back him over to the bathtub with his pants half removed, and when he reaches out in search of support, he ends up grabbing the shower curtain and pulling half of the rings off of the rail. The sensation of him laughing against my lips as we fight to regain our balance is nothing but pure freedom.

“Shit…” He breathlessly tears his mouth from mine and looks down at the shower curtain. It’s not irreparably damaged, but fixing it isn’t really high on either of our lists of priorities right now. “What should we do?”

“Well… we could still take a shower and just mop the mess up later?” I laugh softly, offering him a small shrug to emphasize the fact that I don’t have an better ideas because pretty much all I can think about right now is how much I want to finish taking his pants off.

“Good plan.”

It doesn’t take long for us both to shed everything but our underwear after that, but as desperate as everything still feels between us, that momentary pause seemed to dilute the insanity somewhat. The heat is still there, no question about it, but we’re being a little more careful than we were before, giving our actions at least a fraction of a second of thought rather than mindlessly grabbing at each other’s clothes in a blind race to get naked as quickly as possible.

He turns away from me to reach for the faucet and start the water, but I refuse to let go of him. My hands explore the smooth skin of his back as he bends down, my fingers gliding teasingly down his spine until they find the waistband of his briefs. I lower my body over his, grazing my lips against his shoulder blade while I slowly push his underwear down, and goosebumps erupt all over my arms when he groans and presses himself back against me. He rocks against my erection, leaving me whimpering as my fingers grasp his hips and he stands up straight once again, his back pressed flush to my chest. I pull him up against me demandingly, my mouth seeking his neck, and even the harsh stubble I feel against my sensitive lips is a turn on. My hips are grinding hopelessly against him, and the sound of our mingled, breathless moans is enough to drown out the sound of the shower.

Suddenly, without warning, the words tumble past my lips. I hear myself say them, but the fact that he heard them too doesn’t register until it’s too late.

“I love you.”

His body freezes instantly in my arms. He just… stops.

Everything stops.

 

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

  


 

 

The silence feels endless, but in reality I know it only lasts for a few excruciatingly long seconds. I try to swallow my nerves as he slowly turns to look me in the eyes, but they get stuck somewhere in my throat and it leaves me feeling like I can’t breathe.

“What did you say?”

“N-nothing.”

Did I seriously just say “nothing”, like I expect him to believe I never spoke even though we both _know_ I did? He knows exactly what I said, he just can’t believe I actually said it.

And neither can I.

What the hell was I thinking?! I know I’ve been wanting to say it for weeks now, but of all the times to blurt it out I decided to do it while we were in the throes of pre-sex passion?! Because _that_ makes it seem so sincere. Now he’s gonna think I was speaking from my dick rather than my heart. And the fact that I just tried to play it off like I never said anything makes it look even worse.

Fuck.

“You…” He eyes me warily, and I can tell that some part of him is starting to doubt that he heard what he thinks he did. “You said… ‘I love you’.”

The words “no I didn’t” are on the tip of my tongue, but I manage to bite them back before they have a chance to slip out and make me look like an even bigger ass.

“I…” What am I supposed to say here? I don’t want to tell him that I didn’t mean it, because I did. And I don’t want to make it sound as though it hasn’t been on my mind for a while, like I put absolutely _no_ thought into the declaration, because nothing could be further from the truth. “I just…”

“What the fuck?” He grabs a towel off of the rail nearby and wraps it around his waist quickly, clearly feeling way too exposed to be having this kind of conversation. “Why would you say something like that?!”

“Because it’s true.” I reply helplessly, to which he merely shakes his head and walks away from me.

I can’t believe he’s just gonna leave the room! I know it’s awkward and it’s a lot to take in when you’re not expecting it, but I don’t know how he can be _that_ surprised by it. He had to have known, on some level, I’m not _that_ good at hiding how I feel. And I know he has to feel something for me, too. I saw it, I _felt_ it, I _know_ I did.

Or maybe I just wanted it to be real so badly that I convinced myself it was…

“Where are you going?” I sigh in frustration, hurriedly pulling my pants back on before following him out into the living room again. “Why are you so pissed at me?”

“Because I am!”

Okay. That totally answers my question. “ _Why_?!”

“Because you’re fucking everything up!” He accuses vehemently, leaving me even more stunned by his behavior than before. “Things were good the way they were, we were having a good time-”

“So? Why does this have to change that?”

“Because you’re trying to make it into something else!”

“No I’m not!”

“Yes you are! You’re trying to turn it into a relationship or something, and it’s not gonna work!”

Apparently he and I were on completely different pages about this, because I thought it already _was_ a relationship. “Why not?”

He stares at me for a moment, like I’m insane and he can’t believe I just asked such a stupid question. And now that I think about it, I guess he has every right and reason to be looking at me that way.

“You’re _married_ , Taylor! And you’ve got like… six kids!”

Four, but I don’t think it’s gonna help my case at all to correct him. “So? I was married with kids when we met! You knew who I was from the start, and it never seemed to bother you before!”

“Because we were just fucking around before; it didn’t mean anything!”

Wow.

We’re not on different pages, we’re reading completely different books!

I want to be a calm, rational adult about this, but it fucking _hurts_. And even though I should be grown up enough to just deal with it and accept that he doesn’t feel the same, all I really want to do right now is hide from him because I’m so completely _humiliated_. I really thought he felt something for me, something more than just physical attraction, more than sex. How could he not when we’ve spent most of the last four months apart? We haven’t been able to “fuck around”; all we’ve done is talk and _connect_. Or that’s what I thought, at least.

How could I have gotten this _so_ wrong?

Without saying another word to him (because really… what am I supposed to say?), I grab my shirt off of the floor nearby and start pulling it over my head as I walk over to his bedroom to find my jacket and shoes. Some stupid part of me is hoping that he’ll follow, that he’ll apologize and tell me he didn’t mean it. But I’m not surprised when he doesn’t.

When I emerge from the bedroom, he’s still standing exactly where I left him. His arms are folded defensively over his bare chest, and his eyes are focused on something on the other side of the room, though I’m pretty sure he’s only staring in that direction to avoid having to look at me. It seems so crazy to think that only a few minutes ago we were all over each other, and now he doesn’t even want to see me and I don’t want to be in the same room as him.

Saying goodbye seems pointless. And throwing out some terse parting line like “have a nice life” is too childish. So I settle for walking out on him without saying anything at all, which is probably harsher than anything else I could have said or done.

But again, what the hell else could I have possibly said? I told him that I loved him and he told me that this thing between us “didn’t mean anything” to him!

So I guess it’s over, then?

Fine. Whatever.

I was doing okay before I met him, I’ll be okay without him. I have a career and a family, I have a life to live and I don’t need him in it. In fact, he was just one more complication I _didn’t_ need. Now I won’t have to worry about finding time to see him every couple of months, or deleting his texts so my wife won’t read them, or making sure no one is within earshot when he calls me. My life will be a hell of a lot simpler _without_ him in it.

Except for that whole stupid thing where I’m happier than I’ve been in years whenever I’m talking to him, and the idea of never seeing him again makes me want to drive this rental car right off of Santa Monica pier.

Fuck, fuck, f _uck_!

I almost jump out of my skin when I hear the passenger side door open, and I’m more than a little surprised when I look over and see Tommy getting into the car with me. I should probably be embarrassed that I was sitting out here with the engine running like some pathetic _girl_ who can’t just get in a car and actually drive away after a breakup. But for some reason I don’t care what he thinks of it, or of the fact that I have to quickly turn my face away from him before he has a chance to notice that my eyes are glassy.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles remorsefully. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Said what?” I reply petulantly, doing my best to pretend that I’m annoyed at him and that my strongest instinct right now _isn’t_ to reach out and grab him and hold on for dear life.

“Any of it.”

I shrug, taking a deep breath before chancing a brief look at him. He looks exhausted again. But more than that, he looks completely miserable and more than a little guilty. “You can’t help how you feel.”

“But that’s _not_ how I feel. You _know_ it isn’t.” He corrects me immediately, his eyes finally meeting mine and making it perfectly clear that he’s telling the truth. “I just said all that shit because…” He sighs deeply, shaking his head slowly as he tries to find the words to explain how he feels. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just… scared.”

“Of what?”

“Everything.” His reply is simple, and it feels as though it should be all the answer I need. But it’s not.

“What do you mean?”

He laughs softly, sadly, looking down at his hands and picking mercilessly at the chipped, black nail polish on his fingers. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What wasn’t?”

“You, this… _us_. I just… I never meant to let it get this far. There’s a fucking _reason_ I’ve always had a rule against getting involved with married people. It’s messy and it’s complicated and someone _always_ ends up getting fucked over, you know?” I nod faintly, the pieces slowly falling into place in my mind. “I told myself I wasn’t gonna see you again after New York, but then I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So I sent you that text… and I told myself it didn’t mean anything, it wasn’t serious, we were just having fun. And that’s what I’ve been telling myself ever since, that’s what all that crap I said before was about. It’s not how I feel, it’s just like… what I have to tell myself so that I can pretend I don’t feel the way I actually do.” He finally looks up at me again, and it breaks what’s left of my already decimated heart to see the absolute fear in his eyes. “I _really_ don’t wanna fall for you.”

“It’s not exactly something I had on my ‘to do’ list, either.”

He smiles faintly, just for a second. “But when this is over… you’ll go back to your wife and your kids and your band, and…”

And he’ll be left with nothing.

It feels as though anything I say right now will be meaningless. I can’t make him any promises, we both know that if I do there’s a good chance they’ll end up broken. I could tell him not to think like that, but it’s like asking him to live in denial. Nothing I can tell him makes anything any better.

“I don’t know what to say.” I concede honestly, wishing it didn’t sound so much like I’m begging him to give me all the answers.

“I don’t think there’s anything _to_ say.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” His lips curl into another small, cheerless smile, and my annihilated heart fractures all over again. “That’s kinda the problem.”

I really have no clue where we stand with each other right now, and I’m pretty sure he’s as lost as I am. Neither of us wants this to be over, but I still can’t shake the feeling that it is.

“Maybe we should just… slow stuff down.” He suggests quietly, his gaze trained defiantly on his nails.

  1. “Okay...”                                                                                                                                   



“I mean, we can still hang out while you’re in town… if you want?”

Hang out? “Like… as friends?”

I notice his throat bob as he swallows hard before nodding in confirmation. “Yeah.”

“Sure.” This is _so_ not how I imagined this trip would go. “We can… hang out.”

We sit in strained silence for a painfully long moment, both of us staring straight ahead out of the windshield as though we might somehow be able to see where we’re going if we only look hard enough. The problem is we’re no longer going anywhere. At least, not together.

One of us has to leave, or we’re going to be stuck sitting in this unmoving vehicle indefinitely. And as much as it kills me to do it, I know I have to be the one to go.

“I should probably just… check in at the hotel and get settled.” I say as lightly as possible, though it still comes out sounding nothing but reluctant.

“Right.”

“But… if you want to hang out,” God I _hate_ that expression. “Text me or something.”

“Okay.” He smiles at me, but it’s totally forced. I can tell, because my own smile is so fake it makes me want to hurl. “I guess I’ll just… talk to you later?”

“Yeah.”

It takes him a little while longer to make any kind of move to get out of the car, and when he finally does, it takes all the self-restraint I have to avoid pleading with him to stay. If he wants to go, if he believes that this is for the best, I have to let it happen. It’s not fair of me to fight to keep him when the chances of him ending up hurt and alone in the end are a hell of a lot higher than the chances of us riding off into the sunset together. I have no right asking him to stay in a relationship that more than likely will inevitably hold nothing but pain for him.

I don’t know how else I thought this whole thing was going to play out. I guess I never put a whole lot of thought into what the future had in store for us, I was too wrapped up in how good he made me feel _now_. But obviously it wasn’t going to last forever. How could it? What were we supposed to do? Sneak away from our wives and kids every two months for the next fifty years to see each other for all of forty-eight hours before returning to lives that are nothing like we wish they could be?

Correct me if I’m wrong, but that sounds a hell of a lot like the plot of ‘Brokeback Mountain’. And if I remember rightly, that relationship didn’t turn out so great in the end.

Even after he’s disappeared back into his apartment, I remain sitting out in the rental car like an idiot with nothing better to do. Because I _don’t_ have anything better to do. I can either sit here and feel shitty or go to my hotel room and feel shitty. And at least out here I can pretend that any minute he’s gonna come back down those steps and tell me he’s changed his mind. Only deep down, I know that’s not going to happen. And maybe it really is better this way… for him, at least. It’s better for him to get out now, before things get any more serious, and before either of us gets any more invested in this than we already are.

Or _were_.

Eventually I force myself to shift out of park and drive away from his apartment building, because I miss him so fucking much that I’m not sure how much longer I can stop myself from doing something incredibly embarrassing like camping out on his doormat until he reconsiders.

Once I’m finally checked into the hotel and have settled into my room (and by settled in, I mean dumped my bag on the floor and collapsed on the bed), I grudgingly take my phone out of my pocket and check the texts and voicemails that I’ve been getting periodically for the last few hours. I could feel my phone vibrating to let me know they were there, but I just couldn’t bring myself to deal with talking to anyone. I knew that the messages would be from Nat and my brothers, and I knew that they’d make me feel claustrophobic and stressed out. And sure enough, each and every text is a request (or in Ike’s case a demand) for _something_ , even if it’s just information.

I know I should answer my wife’s many texts about whether or not I got here okay and why I’m not answering my phone. But I think the fact that I’m here in the first place if proof enough of what a shitty husband and human being I am, and not replying to her is hardly the biggest betrayal of the day.

Just as I’m about to drop my phone on the bed and pretend it’s not there, Isaac’s face appears on the screen and it starts buzzing in my hands with an incoming call. At first I let it fall onto the comforter anyway, running my fingers through my hair and closing my eyes as I try to block it out. But it’s like the sound of it and even the feel of it just gets louder and louder, until finally I snatch it back up and accept the call just to make it _stop_!

“ _What_?!”

“Whoa! Chill out, man. I was just calling to make sure you were okay.” Ike greets me, his tone clearly affronted.

“Well, I’m not.”

“Good to know. Next time your wife calls to ask me if I’ve heard from you, I’ll be sure to tell her that.”

Shit. “She’s been calling you?”

“Every hour on the hour since seven o’clock this morning.” He informs me wearily, before launching into an awful impersonation of Natalie. “‘Have you heard from Tay? He hasn’t called since his flight got in! Has he texted you? He hasn’t checked into his hotel yet! Where is he? Has he called you? What if he’s been in an accident?! What if he’s been _kidnapped_? What if he’s been abducted by aliens?! What if-’”

“Okay, I get it!” I groan, covering my face with my free hand and attempting to keep myself from feeling so harangued that I scream. It’s not her fault; she’s not being even slightly unreasonable. But knowing that only makes me feel worse. Probably because I deserve to. “I’ll call her in a minute.”

“What’s going on with you? It’s not like you to just drop off the radar like that, you know she worries.”

“I’m just having a really shitty morning.” I mutter miserably, knowing that things not going well for me with Tommy is probably the best news my brother has had in weeks.

“Aw, poor Tay-Tay. Your little romantic getaway not going the way you planned?”

If I could reach through my phone and punch him, that’s exactly what I’d be doing right about now. “No, it’s not. And fuck you, Ike.”

“Look, I’m sorry you’re having a bad day, I really am. But I can’t pretend to be sorry that you and this Tommy guy aren’t off gazing longingly into each other’s eyes or whatever.” He informs me bluntly, because he and I lost the ability to be sensitive to one another’s feelings a long time ago. “Maybe now you can just come home and stop with this quarter-life-crisis bullshit already.”

It’d be pointless trying to reason with him on this subject, not to mention the fact that I don’t even have the energy to try right now. And maybe he’s right. Maybe I should just get on the next flight out of Los Angeles and go back to reality and stop trying to pretend that Tommy and I were ever anything more than a fantasy.

“Just… call your wife, okay?” He presses, though his voice seems a little gentler than it did before. “And have a safe trip home.”

“I will.”

I don’t’ particularly want to keep my word and call Nat right after ending my conversation with Ike, but I know I should. If I don’t, she’s just gonna call him again, and then he’ll know I never called her, and he’ll be even more pissed at me than he already is. So I summon the small amount of emotional energy I have left and bite the bullet. And, of course, Natalie is sweet and selfless and nothing but concerned about me, which just makes me feel like even more of an ass for making her worry, and for lying to her, and cheating on her, and for being _nothing_ like the kind of husband she deserves.

I honestly don’t know what the fuck to do with how I feel about anything anymore. Part of me thinks I should just get over it and go home, but the rest of me still doesn’t want to leave, even if I don’t see Tommy again for the remainder of my stay.

In an effort to postpone having to make a decision, I spend the next few hours sprawled across the hotel bed, desperately searching for something worth watching on TV while simultaneously trying to ignore my rumbling stomach. I know I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four-hours, but getting food means getting up and leaving this room, and I seriously can’t be bothered.

That is, until I get a text from Tommy just after three o’clock.

_Going to a friends show tonite @ the troubadour. Wanna come?_


	21. Chapter 21

  


 

 

After reading the text over about three dozen times, I still can’t decide what to make of it _or_ how to respond to it. I keep trying to read between the lines and find the hidden meaning, but I don’t think there is one. There’s an angry voice in my head ranting and raving about the fact that he’s insane; he just dumped me and now he’s asking me out! And then there’s a more rational voice, trying to explain to the angry voice that he said we could still “hang out” while I was in Los Angeles, and this is him trying to initiate that so that I won’t think they were just empty words.

And now I’m stuck trying to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to handle it. The ball is in my court, but I’m just standing here with my tennis racket, staring back across the net at him like an idiot, with a “what the fuck?” expression on my face! What am I supposed to do? If I turn him down I might upset him, but if I accept and he was only asking to be nice and never thought I’d actually say yes, then it’ll be really awkward. Then again, even if the offer _was_ genuine and I accept… it could still be awkward.

Maybe I should just tell him thanks but no thanks. I can say I have other plans, then he won’t have to know that I spent all day pining over him. Except that I don’t have any plans. But I could _make_ plans. I have dozens of friends out here, I’m sure I could find one to hang out with on only a few hours notice. But I don’t _want_ to spend time with anyone else. I want to spend time with _him_. So maybe I should just go.

But I have nothing to wear!

Oh _God_ , what the hell is wrong with me?

You know what? I’m just not going to go. I think it’d be a bad idea; I don’t wanna spend the whole night wishing I could kiss him and knowing I can’t. That’s not exactly my idea of a good time.

Although… maybe this little “friendly” outing could turn into something more. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that he asked me to this show because he misses me already and he wants something to happen between us tonight just as badly as I do. But I shouldn’t get my hopes up, because even if he _does_ want to kiss me tonight, that doesn’t mean it’ll actually happen. He clearly has more self-restraint than I do. I don’t think I could have found the strength to break up with him if the situation was reversed, no matter how ugly I could foresee things turning out if we stayed together.

Fuck.

How did things get this complicated and screwed up?!

I mean, I know they’ve been screwed up and complicated since day one, but I guess it was easier to pretend it was simple before. We didn’t think about the future, _our_ future (or our painfully obvious lack of one). But then I had to go and ruin that by telling him that I love him, which forced us both to face the as yet unspoken intensity of our feelings for one another, and forced him to question where that was going to leave him in the end.

Maybe if I’d just kept my mouth shut we’d in his bedroom right now, debating whether or not we could even be bothered getting dressed to go to this show tonight. Instead, I’m lying on a hotel bed, alone, staring at a text from my “friend”.

Taking a deep breath of determination, I finally type my reply.

_Time?_

It’s not a commitment to going, but at least he won’t think I’m ignoring him. Maybe he’ll even think I was busy doing something besides moping, and that’s why it took me so long to text him back. Probably not, though. I don’t seem to be having that kind of luck today.

 _Show is @ 9 but we’re all meeting there between 8 and 9_.

Wait… so… there are going to be other people hanging out with us as well? I guess that shouldn’t bother me, because we’re “just friends”. But despite that, and despite me trying not to get my hopes up about what tonight could potentially lead to, I can’t help being disappointed. The more people going to the show with him, the more distractions there are going to be, and the less time we’ll probably get to spend together. That should probably be reason enough for me to just tell him I’m not really in the mood for a show (and really, I’m not). But I’m so fucking crazy about him that even if I only get to talk to him for five minutes tonight, it’s better than not seeing him at all.

_Sounds good. See you there._

That leaves me with five hours to figure out what the hell to wear. Not that I really brought many options; I stupidly thought I was gonna spend a decent portion of this trip without any clothes on at all, so I barely packed anything.

After taking a quick shower and shaving for the first time in a couple of days, I dump the contents of my bag out on the hotel bed and try to decide which t-shirt makes me look more toned and which pair of jeans makes my ass look better. It’s been a _long_ time since I cared this much about an outfit choice, usually I just go with whatever catches my eye first. But this is important! I want him to notice me, I want him to _want_ me, I want him to remember how amazing we are together.

Most of all, I want him to change his mind and drop this “hanging out as friends” crap, because I don’t think I know _how_ to be his friend and nothing more. And I’m afraid that if I can’t be his friend, and he doesn’t want to be more, we’re not going to be anything at all.

I show up at The Troubadour just after eight-thirty, figuring that it makes me look less desperate if I show up on the later side of the time he mentioned. At first glance, I don’t see him anywhere, so I slowly make my way over to the bar and wait for one of the bartenders to spot me trying to get their attention so I can order a beer. But while I’m standing there, hopelessly attempting to make eye contact with one of them as they dash back and forth and serve what feels like everyone _but_ me, I feel someone tap me on the shoulder.

When I turn around, I find Tommy standing behind me with a cautious looking smile on his lips. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Did you already order?” He asks glancing down at the bar beside me, looking for a drink I don’t have.

“No, not yet. I’m having a little trouble flagging down a bartender.”

With a knowing nod and a hint of a smirk, he takes a step closer, squeezing himself between me and the guy behind us until he’s leaning on the bar. I know he’s not intentionally pressing himself against me, but it’s _all_ I can think about. I can feel every move he makes, I can smell his cologne, I can even feel the faint hum of his chest as he speaks, although I don’t hear a word of what’s coming out of his mouth until he says my name.

“Huh?”

I know I was staring at him, and I know _he_ knows it, too, because there’s a faint blush on his cheeks that wasn’t there a moment ago. “What do you want to drink?”

“Oh, uh… Corona, thanks.”

“Can I get a Corona and a PBR?” He tells the bartender before pulling his wallet out of his pocket and quickly counting out a couple of five dollar bills.

“I’ll get it.”

“Nah, it’s cool.”

“But…”

Arguing is pointless, since he just handed over his money and is now holding my drink out to me, so I grudgingly take it from him and try not to smile at the smug look he currently has on his face.

“Next round is on me.”

“We’ll see.” He shrugs dismissively, raising the bottle to his lips and taking a brief sip while I watch his every move like some kind of obsessed stalker. I really need to get myself under control. “Wanna go stake out a table?”

“Sure.”

The place is already pretty packed, but most people seem to be lingering by the bar or out on the main floor in front of the stage, so there are still a few empty tables left at the back of the venue. We’re not going to be able to see much of anything, but if he doesn’t care, I don’t. I have no idea who’s even playing; I didn’t come here to see any of the bands performing tonight, I came here to see him.

“So who else is supposed to be coming?”

“I have no idea.” He laughs softly, dropping down into a seat at the table he’s chosen and watching me as I momentarily debate whether to sit next to him or opposite him.  I decide on the latter. “It could just be a couple of people or it could be more like a dozen. Depends how many of them actually show up instead of pussing out.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t worry, they’re a good bunch. Kinda crazy sometimes, but you’ll like them.”

I’m sure he’s right, they’re probably all really nice, but that doesn’t keep me from feeling intimidated and wondering if my coming here was a huge mistake. Even if I do manage to get through the night without being recognized, and even if I do somehow fit in with all of his friends, I might end up having to “share” him with twelve other people? I know I should just get over it and forget the idea of us hooking up in any way, shape or form tonight… but it’s easier said than done.

“So…” I don’t know why I just started speaking like I know what I want to say, because I don’t. I had absolutely _no_ words in mind to follow that “so”, I just figured one of us should say something. “How’s the jet lag going?”

He smiles faintly, swallowing his mouthful of beer before answering. “It’s not so bad anymore. I might crash outta nowhere later, but for now I’m doing okay.”

“Good.”

“Did you just hang out at the hotel today, or…”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Does that sound lame? It sounds lame. Crap. How do I make it sound _less_ lame? “I just felt like chilling out and watching a movie, so…”

“What did you watch?” He asks with genuine interest, reminding me that he’s something of a film junkie.

“Uh…” Nothing. I watched _nothing_. At least nothing interesting enough for me to remember anything about it. “There wasn’t really anything on in the end.”

“Oh.”

Kill me now.

 _Why_ is this so difficult? For the past few months we’ve done nothing but talk, whether it’s on the phone or the net, typing or over webcam. We’re _good_ at talking! We can find things to talk about even when absolutely nothing new has happened for either of us since our last conversation. It shouldn’t be like this, it shouldn’t feel so awkward and stilted. But I have no idea how to fix it. I can’t think of a single thing to say to him right now (besides “I miss you”), and judging by the way he’s staring at the table top in front of us, I think he’s struggling to come up with any conversation starters of his own.

This sucks.

“Hey!” We both look up quickly as someone approaches our table, and Tommy’s expression immediately perks up. I can’t tell if he’s just glad to have someone else around to keep the conversation flowing or if he’s really just _that_ happy to see this guy. “No one else is here yet?”

“Nah, not that I’ve seen.” Tommy tells him, standing up to give him a quick hug before turning back to me. “Taylor, this is Devon.”

I smile politely as I shake his hand, feeling way more self-conscious than I normally do when meeting someone for the first time. I never usually care so much about making a good impression. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, man.” He nods, not even appearing to make any snap judgments against me like I was expecting him to. “I’m gonna go get a drink-”

“I’ll get it.” Tommy quickly interjects, practically shoving Devon into an empty seat. “First round is on me.”

“Hey, no arguments here!”

“Coors?”

“Am I _that_ predictable?”

“Dude, at this point, if Coors came with rewards points you’d _never_ have to pay for another drink again.”

I watch Tommy walk away from the table and disappear into the crowds surrounding the bar, and I try not to read too much into his swift departure. It probably only felt like he was trying to avoid being left alone with me again because I’m paranoid. I hope that’s why. But I wouldn’t blame him if he was using the excuse of buying his friend a beer as a reason to get away from me.

“So, Taylor, how do you know Tommy?”

Oh boy. “Um… we met a few months ago in New York.”

“Oh yeah?” He smiles sincerely, his interest obviously piqued. “You live in New York?”

“No, actually.” I should have just said yes, it would make things _way_ less complicated. Did I learn _nothing_ from my conversation with Dave this morning?! “Not anymore, at least. But I did for a while.”

“How come you left? I’ve _always_ wanted to live there.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s an amazing city. I didn’t leave because I hated it or anything.” I assure him quickly, taking a sip of my beer and trying to relax a little. “I was living there for... work.” It’s not a lie. Not entirely. “I just had to relocate, that’s all. But I’d love to live there again someday. Or out here. I’m definitely more of a big city person.”

“I hear ya, dude.”

“What’d I miss?” Tommy asks lightly, handing Devon a beer before taking his seat again.

“We were just talking about how _unbelievably_ pretty you are.”

Seemingly unfazed by this information, Tommy shrugs and picks his beer up off of the table, taking a long sip before glancing back and forth between the two of us. “What? Don’t stop on my account.”

“Asshole.” Snorts Devon, smacking him playfully on the arm. “Seriously, though, Taylor here was just telling me that he used to live in New York.”

“You did?” Tommy asks in mild surprise. Apparently that’s one of the few things I actually haven’t told him about myself. “When?”

“A _long_ time ago.” It doesn’t even hit me just how long it’s been until I try to remember exactly when it was. “Shit, it must’ve been about… seven years? Ezra was barely one at the time...”

“Who’s Ezra?” Devon frowns at me over his beer.

“My son.”

“You have a kid?”

“He has kid _s_. Plural.” Tommy corrects him before I have a chance to reply, and even though I can definitely hear a hint of bitterness in his tone, the small smile he shoots me before downing another long swig of his drink is nothing but sympathetic.

“I have four.”

“How the hell old are you, man?!”

“Twenty seven.”

“ _Fuck_.”

I can’t help but smirk as Tommy snickers quietly beside him before tapping the neck of his beer bottle lightly to the side of Devon’s. “Amen.”

There’s no use trying to defend my sanity, and I can’t really make a sincere effort when I _know_ I’m crazy. It’s a moot point anyway, because there’s barely pause to breathe in the conversation before an extremely excited female voice breaks the momentary quiet at our table.

“ _Tommy!_!!”

His smile spreads from ear to ear as he stands from his seat again, waving his arms around in an exaggerated imitation of the greeting he just received. “Aiyana! Oh my _God_!!!”

When she throws herself at him and wraps him in a tight hug, he staggers backwards a little and has to take a moment to steady himself before his arms encircle her tiny waist and he squeezes her back affectionately. There’s a twinge of jealousy in my gut, gnawing at me and telling me that I should hate this girl on principal. But I’m so focused on the ecstatic grin on his face that I can’t really hate her for putting it there.

“Holy shit, look at your _hair_!” She coos, pulling back a little and giving him a quick, visual once-over. “It’s getting so long.”

“I know! I don’t even do anything, it just like… _grows_ n’ shit!”

She giggles and smacks him on the arm. “Good to see you’re still the total dork you were when you left.”

“Always.” He winks, earning himself another suffocating embrace.

“Welcome home, honey.”

“Thanks, darlin’.”

Their friendly hug is interrupted after a few seconds by the sound of someone clearing their throat, and we all look up at the guy standing by our table, giving Tommy a rather disapproving look.

“Hey, Ratliff, when you’re done man-handling my girlfriend-”

“Don’t worry, Nick, I’ll man-handle you, too.” Tommy tells him with a roll of his eyes, turning his attention back to Aiyana and shaking his head. “Impatient motherfucker.”

“I know, right?” She sighs dramatically, looking over at the guy who is apparently her boyfriend. “I can’t take him anywhere.”

I stupidly thought that he was kidding about man-handling his male friend, but as soon as Tommy lets go of Aiyana, this Nick guy is pushing his way past our table (and his girlfriend) in an over-the-top, over-zealous show of desperation to be near him. For a moment, I’m too stunned to laugh along with Aiyana and Devon as Tommy and Nick hug each other tightly, their hands roaming all over each other’s backs as they sigh happily, like too long-lost lovers. Until Tommy’s hands reach down and squeeze Nick’s ass, and then his jumps in surprise and pulls back immediately.

“Dude!”

Tommy shrugs nonchalantly, sharing a triumphant look with Aiyana. “I _said_ I was gonna man-handle you.”

“I didn’t think you were gonna go _there_ though! You’ve been spending too much time around Adam Lambert.”

“Don’t make me knock your teeth out.” He warns in a playfully chastising tone, and even though they’re still smiling at each other, there’s no doubt in my mind that he really would lay this guy out if he said anything genuinely insulting about any of Tommy’s tour family. “What’re you guys drinking?”

“I’m DD, I’ll just have a coke.” Aiyana smiles at him gratefully.

He nods, mock saluting her before turning to Nick. “How about you, a-hole?”

“The manly alternative to whatever bitch beer you’re drinking, _Glitterbaby_.”

Nick receives a smack around the head from Tommy, which is then echoed by his girlfriend as soon as he pulls up a chair and sits down with us, but none of them seem at all offended or even slightly uncomfortable with anything that’s been said. I’ll admit, I’m a little taken aback by it all. I guess it’s just because I’m an “outsider”, I’ve never seen him interact with these people before, so I don’t know whether any of them are pushing things too far or if all of this teasing and prodding is normal between them. Apparently it is.

“I’m Aiyana.” The pretty brunette sitting beside me announces brightly, holding out her hand for me to shake in greeting.

“Taylor.”

“Nice to meet you.” Her eyes narrow faintly as she continues to stare at me, and I can feel myself slowly becoming more and more self-conscious. “Sorry… you just look _so_ familiar…”

Uh-oh. “O-oh?”

“Have we met before?”

“Not that I know of.” I laugh softly, trying my best not to let her see just how uncomfortable I am.

“Huh…” She releases my hand, but her gaze stays glued to my face, studying everything about me as her head gently cocks to the side in contemplation. “Are you an actor?”

Now _that’s_ funny. “No, _definitely_ not. I can’t act to save my life.”

“This is gonna drive me nuts! I _swear_ I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

“You know…” Devon sits back a little in his chair, tilting his head at me. Shit. “She’s right, you definitely look familiar.”

“Are you in a band or something?” Nick chimes in, though he doesn’t seem to recognize me at all, he just seems intrigued by how closely his friends are now examining my facial features.

“Uh…” Crap. If I say yes, it’s only a matter of time before they figure it out. If I say no, I’m flat-out lying to Tommy’s friends, and there’s no guarantee that they won’t figure _that_ out, too. Which would be even worse. “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s gotta be it, then!” Devon smiles, taking a sip of his beer. “What’s your band called?”

Oh boy, here we go… “Hanson.”

“Hanson… Hanson… Han…” Aiyana’s eyes slowly grow wider, and I internally brace myself for what the past fourteen years has taught me comes next. “Oh my God… you mean like _MMMBop_ Hanson?!”

Yup. There it is.

“MMMBop?” Nick frowns at her in bewilderment. “What the fuck is an MMMBop.”

“You know!” She continues to insist excitedly. “That song that was like _everywhere_ back in the nineties! It was by those little kids with long blond hair. It went like… ‘MMMBop daba da do wop’ or something!”

Seriously, just _shoot_ me.

“Holy shit!” Exclaims Devon, signaling that he, too, has made the connection. “I remember that song!” His eyes fall on me, and suddenly he’s pointing at me almost accusingly. “You’re Taylor _Hanson_?!”

“What’s going on?” Asks Tommy uncertainly as he approaches the table once again, taking in the shocked expressions on his friends faces and the probably very apparent blush on mine.

“Dude! Why didn’t you tell us he was the chick from Hanson?!” Nick demands, and if I wasn’t embarrassed enough before, I want to crawl into a hold and die right about now.

I know I should be used to this, but depending on the company I’m in when that confidence boosting nickname crops up, it still has the power to completely mortify me. I really hope they don’t become fixated on who I am (or rather, who I _was_ ), because fending off jokes about how I looked at age fourteen and defending my music to a bunch of people who I’m sure were never into it _at all_ doesn’t sound like a fun night out to me.

“He’s not the chick from Hanson.” Tommy tells Nick plainly, placing the drinks he just bought on the table and taking his seat. “His name is Taylor and he’s a musician in a successful rock band. Any questions?”

“Fuck yeah, I’ve got questions! How the hell do you two know each other? And why the fuck didn’t _we_ know about it?!”

“We met in a bar in New York like six months ago. I tweeted about it when it happened, it’s not my fault you smoke so much pot that your brain has the information retention capability of a fucking colander.” He explains with an easy smile on his face, raising what’s left of the beer in his bottle. “Cheers.”

“Come on, Tommy, don’t act like this is no big deal!” Giggles Aiyana, nudging him teasingly. “You can’t just bring Taylor _Hanson_ to The Troubadour and fail to properly introduce us. That’s just _rude_.”

“Yeah! We didn’t raise you to behave like this.” Smirks Devon.

“Well, I _would_ introduce you, but it looks like you’ve already made the worst possible first impressions on him, so there’s not a whole lot of point.”

“I’m sorry.” Aiyana quickly apologizes to me, cringing as she takes in the forced smile on my face. “Do you totally hate us all?”

“No.” I reply quietly, trying my best to seem neutral about the whole situation, though it sounds nothing but awkward. “I’m kinda used to it; I’ve been hearing it half my life.”

“We’ll make you a deal.” Devon offers, leaning on the table and fixing me with a serious, all-business stare. “If you forgive us for acting like a bunch of total asshats just now, we’ll forgive you for MMMBop.”

For the first time since Aiyana recognized me, I feel some of the tension in my body evaporate, and a genuine breath of laughter drifts past my lips. “Deal.”

Maybe the rest of the night won’t be so awful after all.


	22. Chapter 22

  


 

 

For the most part, the rest of the evening goes pretty well, all things considered. Just after the opening act took to the stage at nine, a few more of Tommy’s friends showed up. But thankfully, because the music was so loud, they (and I) were spared the whole “this is Taylor _Hanson._ You remember that MMMBop song, right? Yeah, he’s the chick from Hanson!” thing that the early arrivals had been treated to. Everyone seemed nice enough, and once we’d all started on our second round of drinks, I became more and more relaxed. I chatted casually with Aiyana and Brock (who came with Tommy’s friend Nadia and seemed to be as much of a “noob” to the group as I was) between songs and set changes, not about anything deep and meaningful, but it was nice to feel included.

And even though the music wasn’t really my style, and I barely got to talk to Tommy, I was having fun. It was nice to see him having a good time with his friends, and to see him rocking out to the bands on stage and having a blast being in the audience instead of performing for one. Seeing him so laid back and happy made _me_ feel laid back and happy, and for a while I completely forgot that everything between us is so messed up now. He looked over at me, and he smiled, and everything felt good.

But then it all came crashing down.

I don’t even really know what happened to me. I was totally fine one minute, and then the next… The best way I can think of to describe it is to call it an out of body experience. Only I _wasn’t_ out of my body, I wasn’t floating around somewhere and watching myself. I was right there, but… it didn’t feel as though I was. I felt like I was in my own separate little world, like I wasn’t a part of anything happening around me at all. It was like that scene from that movie with Natalie Portman and the guy from ‘Scrubs’, where he’s just sitting there on that couch, and everyone is bustling around him, but it’s like they’re not aware of his presence at all. He’s surrounded by people, and yet completely alone.

I was alone.

I _am_ alone.

No one said or did anything to make me feel this way, it just snuck up on me out of nowhere and without any kind of warning. I watched Tommy laughing with his friends, I saw them having the time of their lives together, and my mind overflowed with candid snapshots of all of them that I know I’ll still be able to vividly remember when I’m old and grey. They’re all so young and careless and _free_.

And I don’t belong.

I will _never_ belong; it will _never_ be my life.

After the show, we all finish our drinks and grab our jackets before bundling out of the club and into the dark, December night. It feels colder now than it did a few hours ago, but no one else seems bothered by it, and it makes me wonder if it’s just me, not the weather.

“Post-show party at my place!” Nick announces, draping his arm around Aiyana’s shoulders. “Who’s in?”

The response from his friends is nothing but positive, and the entire group begins to head off down the sidewalk towards wherever it is that they or whoever is giving them a ride parked. It seems kind of fitting that I need to leave in the opposite direction.

“Taylor?” Tommy frowns at me once he stops and realizes that I’m not following them. “Are you coming?”

“Actually, I’m kinda beat.” I lie, forcing a small smile in the hopes of wiping that worried look off of his face. “I think I’m just going to go back to the hotel.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. It’s just… been a long day.”

“Oh. Yeah…” He nods somewhat guiltily, and I feel bad because I wasn’t insinuating that it’s his fault in anyway. If anyone is at fault for the mess we’re in, I’m pretty sure it’s me. I’m known for fucking things up. I think our fans even have a saying about blaming me for anything that goes wrong. “Well… do you maybe wanna do something tomorrow?”

My gut instinct is to say yes without hesitation, but I try to at least pretend to consider it for a moment. Not because I want to make him wait for an answer, but because it seems as though the way I’m feeling right now should be enough of a reason for me to say no. I don’t see how spending tomorrow with him is going to make this ache in my chest any less painful.

But I’m glutton for punishment.

“Sure. Anything in mind?”

“Not yet. I promised my mom I’d go over and see her sometime before lunch, but my afternoon’s wide open.”

“Okay, well… give me a call when you’re done at your mom’s and we can figure something out.” I shrug, hoping that I’m not coming across as eager to spend time with him as I really am. Though I don’t know why I’m worrying about that; _he’s_ the one who keeps suggesting we hang out together.

“Tommy! Are you coming or not?!” Yells Devon from half a block away, where the rest of his friends have stopped to watch us say our awkward goodbye.

I guess I should just be grateful they can’t hear us from over there.

“Just a second!” Tommy shouts back at them over his shoulder, before offering me a small, apologetic smile. “So… I’ll call you tomorrow morning?”

“Sounds good. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

He nods in agreement, but he still seems disappointed. “You, too.”

I’m not really sure what else I’m supposed to say to him. It feels like words are just dragging this out longer than necessary, making it more difficult, making us both feel worse. So I take a step back, and he follows suit, and then I watch as he slowly turns away from me and hurries to catch up to his friends, leaving me alone on the sidewalk somewhere in the middle of West Hollywood.

And instead of going back to my hotel room the way I thought I was going to five minutes ago, I find myself turning around and walking right into the nightclub next door to the venue. It’s immediately apparent that I have just entered one of the levels of hell; this place is a shit hole. But it has a bar, so what more can I really ask for? I find myself a barstool with as few people sitting nearby as possible, and when I finally get the bartender’s attention, I ask him for a Corona. But he hasn’t even had a chance to grab one out of the fridge behind him before I change my mind and ask him for a double shot of Patrón instead. He asks if I want a lime wedge to go with it, but I decline. I’m really not in the mood, I just want to throw it back and wait for that moment when it finally kicks in and everything starts to feel a little better.

Even if it’s only for tonight.

The club closes at three am, which I suppose is my cue to leave. I had to park so far away that by the time I’ve walked the six blocks back to the car in the crisp night air, I’m way more sober than I want to be. The last couple of hours of my life were spent staring at the bar top through my shot glass, which went from empty to full more than a few times. The couple beside me was flirting non-stop almost the entire time, I could hear her giggling. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

It used to be so much easier to ignore how bitter I really am. I accepted my situation a long time ago, I spent so much time telling myself that I could be happy, I somehow convinced myself I truly was. I was lying. I was numb. And then _he_ came along, and I remembered what it was like to feel something good, something real, something that didn’t hurt so much that I had to lock it in a box in the back of my mind and pretend it wasn’t there. But, of course, the good stuff never lasts. Like the blissful buzz from a tequila shot, it wears off eventually. I want to hate him for doing this to me, but I know I only have myself to blame. And I _can’t_ hate him for the things he made me feel, for reminding me who I used to be, who I want to be.

Even if it is a slap in the face to realize that it’s too late for me to ever actually be that person.

Speaking of which, waking up with a full blown hangover is like a slap in the face.

Or a punch in the face.

Or twelve.

Why is it that mass alcohol consumption always seems like such a good idea, even when you _know_ you’re going to pay for it eventually? I’m not an idiot, I should know better. I _do_ know better. And yet, here I am, sitting on a well and truly unmade bed, in a hotel room that’s as dark as I can possibly make it when the sun is trying to force it’s way in through the drapes, drinking my fourth glass of water of the morning and wondering why I didn’t have the good sense to down at least one glass _before_ crashing last night.

I wonder if room service would bring me up some Advil…

Before I can seriously consider reaching for the phone, my iPhone starts vibrating on the nightstand. The sound seems so much louder and more irritating that usual, I almost want to pick it up and throw it at the wall. With a tired groan, I push myself off of the mattress and walk over to pick it up, dreading seeing the face of my wife or one of my brothers. And when I see Tommy’s face staring up at me, I’m not even sure how to feel. I’m a contradictory mess of miserable elation and excited dread.

“Hello?”

“Hey, how’s it going?” He greets me cheerfully, and I’m glad he’s not here to see me cringe and clamp my eyes shut.

“Uh… I’m good.”

“You sure? You sound kinda strange.”

“I just woke up.” I explain, faking a yawn in hopes of sounding more convincing. “How was your night?”

“It was okay.” He replies halfheartedly, and I can almost picture him shrugging. “Had too much to drink and I’m paying for it now.”

“You…” The words “you and me both” almost slip out, but I manage to catch myself just in time. I don’t want him to know that I went into some crappy, over-priced dance club and spent the rest of the night drinking alone like a loser instead of hanging out with him and his friends. “You don’t sound hung over.”

“I’ve got a lot of practice at functioning through the pain.” He confides with a soft chuckle. “Plus I already had a Bloody Mary and like a gallon of O.J. this morning. It helps a little.”

Bloody Mary and orange juice. Noted. “So what’s up? Have you been to your mom’s yet?”

“Nope, Dave is giving me a ride over there now. I figure I’ll spend a few hours with her and then I’ll be done by like… one. So if you wanna meet me right after, we could grab lunch or something?”

“Where should we meet?”

“I can text you her address and you can pick me up there, if that works for you?”

He wants me to pick him up at his mom’s house? Does that mean he wants me to _meet_ his mom? Fuck, why did I have to get so drunk last night? Hung over Taylor does _not_ make good first impressions on mothers!

“Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to come in and have tea with her or anything.” It’s like he’s reading my mind. Or maybe he just figured it out when it took me forever to answer. “You can just text me when you get there and I’ll come out.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Great! So I’ll see you in like three hours?”

“See you then.”

That gives me three hours to shower, get dressed, and find a restaurant where I can get a Bloody Mary, a glass of O.J. and some form of breakfast food that doesn’t make me want to throw up (which right now consists of dry toast or a plain bagel with absolutely nothing on it). Hopefully, by the time I pick him up, he won’t be able to tell that I was ever hung over.

I’m about to get up and head into the bathroom when my phone starts ringing again. And even though I want to put it down and pretend it’s completely silent when I see Natalie’s face on the screen, I know I shouldn’t. Not that I’m a brilliant example of a man who never does the things he shouldn’t do, but if I _don’t_ answer her then I’ll just end up feeling guilty all day. I really don’t need to make my headache any worse than it already is.

“Hey.”

“Hi, honey!” She chirps happily, and I try to tell myself that it’s noon there and that’s why she’s so peppy and alert. But the truth is, she’s like this at six o’clock in the morning most days. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” I tell her, not even sure anymore whether it’s a lie or not. “I’m still in the process of waking up.”

“Must be nice!” She teases. “Viggo had me up before seven this morning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, all in a day’s work.”

Sometimes (more like all the time), I feel like there must be something _so_ wrong with me.

I have the world’s most _perfect_ wife. She’s kind, she’s loving, she’s supportive, she’s an amazing mother, and she never complains as much as she has every right to. Plus, she’s beautiful. I mean, even if I am predisposed to be attracted to guys, I can appreciate the fact that she’s incredibly pretty and does _not_ look like she’s a mother of four. Any _normal_ guy would worship the ground she walks on and thank God (whether they believed in him or not) every fucking day that they lucked out and found someone like her who was willing to put up with their endless bullshit.

But not me.

I want someone else.

“How are the kids?”

“They’re okay. They miss you, though.”

“I miss them, too.” I know she’s not intentionally trying to make me feel like a bad father, but my guilty conscience is. I can’t help but wonder if they’ll hate me when they’re older, or if they’ll be too indifferent to me by that point to care one way or the other. Right now I’m still their hero, but when they’re old enough to realize that I spent more time on the road and in the studio than I ever did with them, I’m sure they’re going to resent me. “Give them all a big hug and kisses from me, okay? Tell them I love them and I’ll be home in a few days and I’ll take them somewhere fun.”

“You got it. How’s your friend?”

“Huh?”

“Your friend…?” She asks slowly, as though maybe she was speaking too fast for my sleepy brain to understand. “The one you went out there to visit.”

“Oh, yeah, right… he’s okay.” Again, I have _no_ idea if I’m lying to her or not. “We’re gonna meet up for lunch in a little while after he spends some time with his family.”

“Well, tell him I’m really sorry about his dad, okay?”

“I will.” I won’t, because I’m pretty sure it’d be nothing but weird to tell the guy I’ve been cheating on my wife with that she sends her condolences on his father’s death. But I appreciate her saying it anyway. “I should probably go and take a shower and start getting ready.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t even _whine_ about it! “Listen, before you go, I wanted to run an idea by you.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about how crazy everything’s been this year, and how insane the holidays are going to be, with all the family stuff going on, especially with Kate due any minute.”

It’s harder to breathe just thinking about it. “Right…”

“And it’s been _so_ long since you and I had any time alone together…”

“Yeah.”

“So I was thinking that maybe we could ask your parents to watch the kids for a few days, and you and I could go to New York or something? We could do some Christmas shopping and see a play and maybe even go ice skating or on one of those carriage rides in the park? It’d be _so_ romantic, just the two of us…”

I should want this. It should sound perfect. I shouldn’t have to tell myself to do it, or try to convince myself that I’ll have a good time. I am _so_ fucked up. “It sounds great.”

“Really?” She asks excitedly, the surprise in her tone making me feel wretched. “So you want to go?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Oh my God, I can’t wait! Should I wait to book the hotel and the flights and everything until you get back?”

“No, it’s okay, you can do it now if you want.” I force a smile, hoping she’ll be able to hear it somehow and that it will disguise the lack of enthusiasm in my voice. “It’s probably not a good idea to leave it too long to book things, especially not at this time of year.”

“Good point! Okay, I’ll try to look around online later today. I’m _so_ excited! _Thank you_!”

For a moment, my smile becomes a little more genuine, and I try to take comfort in how delighted she sounds. I’m not the perfect husband, and I definitely don’t deserve her… but at least _she’s_ happy.

It would be so much worse if she wasn’t, if she had _any_ idea about what goes on in my head and in my heart.


	23. Chapter 23

  


 

 

When I turn onto the street Tommy’s mother lives on just before one o’clock, I’m surprised to see him sitting out on the curb a few houses down from the address he texted me earlier. He looks so small, almost childlike. At first he doesn’t look up, he continues staring down at his feet in the gutter and picking at the sole of his right shoe. But when he hears the car slowly coming to a stop he glances up, and I can clearly see the miserable expression on his face (although is morphs into one of relief when he realizes it’s me, which of course makes my heart flutter a little).

He doesn’t say anything as he gets into the car, though he does attempt to smile at me for a moment before his face quickly falls again, as though someone has attached invisible weights to the corners of his mouth. I have no idea where he wants me to go, but I get the feeling he doesn’t want to be anywhere near here right now, so I drive. Burbank isn’t an area I’ve spent a great deal of time in before, so I’m not familiar with it, but I do my best to navigate back to the freeway without asking him for directions. We’re already passing through downtown Los Angeles when he finally tears his gaze from the road in front of us and speaks for the first time since getting into the car.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I assure him sincerely, glancing at his face to see if he looks any less despondent than he did twenty minutes ago. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He heaves a deep breath, the sound of which totally contradicts what he’s just said. “It was just kinda weird being back there, you know? And my sister was there and…” There’s a pause, but despite how curious I am about what happened with his sister to bring him down like this, I don’t want to push him to tell me about it if it’s just going to make him feel worse again. “You know how Isaac sometimes like pisses you off with all of his ‘big brother knows best’ bullshit?”

God, do I. “Yes.”

“Well, Lisa could do ‘big sister knows best’ in her sleep.”

“Oh.” That explains a lot. I honestly pity anyone who has an older sibling. Not that they don’t have their good points, but that holier than thou crap most of them excel at _really_ gets under your skin. “What does she think she knows best about?”

“ _Everything_.” He laughs softly, tiredly. “She’s just been really protective of my mom since dad died, you know? Which I _totally_ get; I’m super protective of her, too. I always have been! But it just really pisses me off when Lisa is like… making it seem as though I’m being selfish and inconsiderate just for getting on with my life.”

“She _said_ that?”

“Not in so many words. But when I said I had to leave because I was meeting someone for lunch, she got this _look_ on her face. And then when I was on my way out the door she came over and was getting on my case about how I’ve been gone for months, and why can’t I just spend a little longer with mom now that I’m back, and how it’s bad enough that I wasn’t around when she _really_ needed me…” I watch as he shakes his head, and I notice his painted black nails digging into the fabric of the seat for a moment. “I mean, what did she want me to do? Quit in the middle of the freakin’ tour and move home? It’s not like I could have done anything more than everyone else was already doing, I would’ve just sat around feeling useless and shitty! I talked to mom on the phone _all_ the time while I was gone, I was there for her even if I wasn’t _there_ for her, you know? Lisa acts like I totally abandoned them, and it’s not fucking true!”

I wish I knew what to say to make him feel better, but I’m really at a loss for words. I could tell him that I agree with him, and I honestly do, but I know that’s not really going to help him feel much better right now. He doesn’t need validation, he just needs to vent, to work it all out in his own head and let it go. Which means that the most helpful thing I can do for him is to keep my mouth shut.

“I don’t know, maybe she’s right. Maybe I should have quit, or at least taken more time off.” He sighs sadly, running his fingers through his hair in weary frustration. “But I’d already taken time off when he started getting really bad, and I felt like I was letting people down. It was my first real tour, I didn’t wanna flake. I mean, Adam said I could take as much time as I needed, he told me to be with my family and not to worry about my job and everything, but…” With another deep sigh, his voice drops to a near mumble. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be here, I still don’t.”

“I know.” I tell him gently, resisting the urge I have to reach over and give his hand a supportive squeeze. It seems as though I should be allowed to; we’re friends, after all. But everything between us is so strange now. I don’t want to make thing more complicated. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Take a right.”

“Huh?”

“Here!” He exclaims suddenly, all but grabbing the wheel from me and swerving the car into the next lane over. “Turn right.”

“I _can’t_ turn right! We’re on the _freeway_!”

“I know! Just… get in the right lane!”

Now that’s something I _can_ do. I check my mirrors quickly before merging across a couple of lanes of traffic and into the lane he so desperately wanted me to be in, which also happens to be an exit lane onto the 105. I have no clue where the hell we’re going now (not that I had much of an idea before). The only things I can think of that this freeway will lead us to are the beach or the airport. At first I think he’s directing me to the beach, which is fine by me because I love the beach. But then I start to think about everything we’ve just talked about, and the last thing he said to me before basically demanding that I exit towards LAX…

“This might be a _really_ dumb question, but… we’re not going to the airport… are we?” Silence. Interesting. “Okay… but… I don’t have my passport or anything, so wherever we’re going needs to be within the fifty nifty United States.”

For the first time since he got in the car, he smiles. “Shut up.”

I don’t bother questioning him further, I’m too relieved that he seems more relaxed now than he did when I picked him up, and I don’t want to do anything to ruin it. I follow his directions as we get closer to the airport, taking a right here and a left there, until finally he tells me to pull into an In-N-Out Burger parking lot. I can’t imagine that he went to all this trouble just for a particular kind of burger, especially when there were probably a dozen In-N-Out Burger restaurants between his mom’s place and here. But some people are _very_ fussy when it comes to their Double-Doubles. I’m about to get in the line for the drive-thru when he grabs my arm to get my attention and points to a car backing out of a parking spot nearby, so I quickly alter course and swipe the spot before any of the other lingering cars can get there first.

“Are you one of those weirdos that prefers to eat fast food in the restaurant instead of in the car?” I tease as we close our doors and head towards the entrance.

“Not exactly.”

“Why are you being so secretive?”

“Because it’s fun watching you pretend not to care where we’re going when really it’s _all_ you can think about.” He admits unashamedly, flashing me a grin which I can’t help but take as flirtatious.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I reply as nonchalantly as possible (i.e. not very, because between being curious about what he’s hiding from me and feeling like he’s flirting with me, it’s difficult to act like I don’t care!). “The only thing on my mind right now is what flavor milkshake I’m gonna order.”

“Whatever you say, dude.”

It takes us a few minutes to get to the front of the line, but when we finally do we both end up ordering the exact same thing, which makes the girl working the register smirk as she rings up our total. I manage to pay before Tommy can even get his wallet out of his pocket, and even though he scowls at me in the most disapproving way possible, I simply remind him that I never got the chance to pay him back for buying me a drink last night.

I wasn’t even all that hungry before we got here. I’d mostly recovered from my hang over, but I still didn’t have an appetite, especially not after having my delectable slice of dry, wheat toast for breakfast earlier. But a few minutes of standing around waiting for our food, inhaling the scent of freshly cooked fries and sizzling beef patties, is enough to make my mouth start watering. Tommy’s barely handed me my strawberry shake before I’ve shoved the straw into my mouth and started slurping on it like I haven’t had anything to eat or drink in weeks. He smiles at me and takes a much smaller sip of his own shake, refusing to let me carry the bag with our food in it as he leads me out of the building and across the parking lot.

Now I’m _really_ confused. He doesn’t want to eat in the car _or_ the restaurant? So where the hell are we going? I want my burger!

We walk across the street to a grassy area directly opposite In-N-Out. It’s like a little park, only it’s so small and empty that calling it a park would be an insult to parks everywhere. It’s more like a houseless front yard. There are a few other people sitting around, eating their food or looking through binoculars. I guess they must be bird watching or something, though this hardly seems like a prime location to see any wildlife. We’re smack bang between a Goodyear Tires, a fast food restaurant and…

Los Angeles International Airport.

 _Oh_!

“Figured it out yet?” He asks knowingly, taking his jacket off and dropping it on the ground before sitting on it and rooting through the bag for his food.

“I think so.”

“I used to come here all the time.”

“Funny.” I muse, spreading my own coat out on the grass and sitting down beside him as I pop a fry into my mouth.

“What is?”

“I just never pegged you as a plane spotter.”

He glares at me playfully and gives me a gentle shove. “I’m not a plane spotter.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m _not_!” This time when he shoves me I almost spill my milkshake all over myself, which just leaves us both laughing while he throws a handful of napkins at me so I can wipe my mouth. “Whenever someone gave me shit for wanting to play in a band or make a career out of music, I’d just come out here and watch them fly over, and I’d like… imagine all the amazing places they might be coming from. And I’d tell myself that, one day, I was gonna prove everyone wrong. I was gonna take my guitar and get the fuck out of here, and perform in London or Paris or Tokyo… hell, even just New York.”

“And now you have.” I point out with a smile that I can only describe as proud, and it grows even wider as his lips spread into a grin at the thought of it.

“And now I have.”

We eat in silence for a while, enjoying the sunshine and the shrieks of laughter coming from the two kids nearby who are chasing each other around in circles while their parents scan the blue skies for any signs of incoming planes. Everything feels comfortable between us again, the way it did before my stupid “I love you”. We’re talking, teasing, telling each other things we haven’t told anyone else before. I don’t know what it means, if it even means anything at all, I just want it to last.

“It’s funny,” He speaks up after a few minutes, still staring off into the wispy, white clouds overhead. “Everyone always thinks that when they make it to L.A., they’ve _made_ it. But when you’re pretty much born and raised here, no one gives a fuck if you get to play a show at the Hollywood Hard Rock. It’s like… so what? There are hundreds of bands from SoCal that play shows in L.A. _all_ the time, but it’s about as big a deal to people who live here as it would be if they were playing at the only bar in Boonesville, Idaho.”

“Is that an actual place?” I ask, wearing the most serious frown I can muster.

Both of us crack up as he rolls his eyes and tosses a fry at my face. “I don’t know, but you get the point.”

“Yeah, I get it.” I chuckle softly, picking the French fry up out of my lap and eating it (because why not?). “Although, I was one of those people who felt like they’d officially ‘made it’ as soon as I got to Los Angeles.”

“Yeah, but you’re from like the Oklahoma equivalent of Boonesville.”

“I am not!” Why did I eat all of my fries already? Now I have nothing to throw at him. “Tulsa isn’t Boonesville. Granted, it’s no New York or Los Angeles, but it’s hardly the middle of nowhere.”

“I wouldn’t know; I’ve never been there.”

“Well, maybe someday you’ll grace us with your presence.”

“Only if I’m really, _really_ lucky.” He teases, earning himself a playful glower. “But who knows… maybe someday I actually will find my way out there.”

It’s hard for me to resist reading too much into that statement. He’s doing his best to avoid looking me in the eyes, but there was something in his tone, something about the way he said it and the words he used. It made me feel hopeful… but hopeful for what, exactly, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just the idea that he wants us to stay in each other’s lives, whether we’re friends or more. I’ve tried not to think too much about what happens when this trip is over and where we go from here, I think I was afraid that all I’d see was distance and us inevitably drifting apart. But I don’t think that’s what either of us wants, and I believe we’re both going to make the effort to ensure it doesn’t happen.

Out of nowhere, a loud rumbling noise fills the air, and a high pitched mechanical sound begins to swell around us. I only have to follow Tommy’s gaze to see the approaching 747 jet, and it’s coming in much, much lower than I ever would have expected. In fact, it’s coming in so low that it looks like it’s going to hit the billboard above the Goodyear Tires right across the street from us!

“Holy fuck! It’s too low, it’s gonna hit that sign!” I exclaim nervously, wondering why Tommy is just sitting there smirking instead of panicking like me.

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is! Look! The wheels are down, it’ll clip the top!”

While he continues to snicker at me, I briefly contemplate jumping up and waving my arms around. But I highly doubt that the pilot is going to see me, and even if he does, he won’t know what I’m trying to tell him. There’s nothing I can do except sit here and watch as the airplane…

 _Totally_ misses the sign.

Well that was embarrassing.

I turn to Tommy with a sheepish smile on my face, ready and waiting to receive the taunting I have no doubt he’s about to unleash on me for being such an uptight _woman_. But it doesn’t happen. He’s not even paying attention to me. His eyes are glued steadfastly on the enormous airplane above us, following it as it descends over the patch of grass we’re sitting on. And suddenly, everything else fades away. I can’t hear the kids squealing with excitement or the jet engines overhead, and I can’t see the people around us or the huge shadow that the plane is casting over us. All I can see is his face, his faraway expression, the way his eyelids fall closed and his lips part as he inhales a slow breath. It’s as though this airplane brought with it the air from some far off destination, somewhere he’d rather be, and inhaling it is like escaping.

Just for a moment.

 


	24. Chapter 24

  


 

 

Once the plane has safely landed on the tarmac of the runway behind us, Tommy pulls himself back to the here and now. A soft blush invades the pale skin of his cheeks when he realizes that he was completely spacing out (and that I completely caught him), and he takes a quick sip of his milkshake before braving a look at me.

“If you could get on a plane and go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?” He asks, doing his best to act like he wasn’t just somewhere else entirely.

I laugh quietly, shaking my head as I try to think of an answer. But I honestly can’t.

At least, not one I can give him.

Any other day, my reply would be Australia or Italy or Japan. But today, for the first time in longer than I can remember, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Sure, Los Angeles isn’t the most exotic location on Earth, and I’ve been here a thousand times before, but I don’t care. This is where I want to be. Here, or anywhere else he is.

“Um… I don’t know.” I shrug, distracting myself (and hopefully him, too) by unwrapping my burger. “I guess… Australia, maybe? I haven’t been there in forever.”

“Australia is _amazing_.” He agrees with an emphatic nod of his head. “And Northern Europe, too. I really loved it there.”

“Really? I think I prefer Southern Europe. Northern Europe is too cold for me.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Europe in general is fucking awesome, but there’s just something about the people in the north. I can’t put my finger on it… I felt really at home, you know?”

“Yeah.”

I actually _don’t_ know, because as much as I’ve loved pretty much every country I’ve ever been blessed enough to visit, I can’t think of a single one of them that ever felt like home to me. Maybe I just don’t do well enough in foreign countries, but the only places I’ve seriously been able to see myself settling down and living in indefinitely (besides Tulsa), are New York and L.A. And that’s probably because I _have_ lived in both of those places, at least for a few months, which is longer than I’ve ever lived anywhere else in my adult life.

“Okay, I’ve got another question.” He smiles, reclining onto his elbows and rolling onto his side to look at me.  “If you could like go back to a single moment in time and relive it, whether you wanna change it or just experience it all over again, what moment would you go back to?”

Again, the first answer that comes to mind is one I can’t give him. It’s one I don’t even want to admit out loud, because admitting it is like saying I wish Ezra (and consequently _all_ of my kids) had never been born, and I _don’t_ wish that. I could _never_ for a _single_ second wish that. I just…wish things were different. Simpler.

“I guess… I’d probably relive the birth of one of my kids. Or maybe the day we found out our first independent album was number one.” He nods knowingly, seemingly unsurprised. “Or one of the big moments from when we first got famous. Like _finally_ getting a record deal or the moment we walked onto the stage for the first show of our first real tour.”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty wild feeling. I mean, it wasn’t even _my_ tour, but the first show of Glam Nation was a pretty wild experience. Just knowing that _everyone_ was there to see us play and _no one_ else. I’d never really had that before.”

“It doesn’t get much better.” I agree with a wistful smile, already longing for our next tour, even though we only just finished our last one. “How about you? What moment would you choose to change or relive?”

With a soft breath of laughter, he lies down on his back, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the sky. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

“You have to pick one! If I can do it, you can.”

“You didn’t pick one, you picked like… ten!”

“I did not!” I exclaim in open mouthed (and very much exaggerated) outrage. “Come on, just pick one!”

“I don’t know! I kinda just wanna put this past summer on repeat and relive it over and over for the rest of my life.” He smiles faintly, turning his head to look at me and leaving me momentarily breathless, because _fuck_ , he’s gorgeous. “With a few exceptions, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

I automatically assumed that he was referring to his dad’s death, and he probably was. But, of course, the self-conscious part of my mind quickly kicks in and starts telling me it’s not impossible that he was actually talking about me. Maybe, if he could go back and relive this summer, he’d choose not to kiss me in that bar. Or he’d choose not to text me about meeting in Thackerville. Or he would’ve pushed me away when I tried to kiss him in that dressing room. Or-

“Can I ask you something that’s totally none of my business?”

Well _that_ was random. “Uh… sure, I guess.”

“You can tell me to fuck off if you want.” He assures me seriously, but his solemn expression only amuses me even more. “I mean it.”

“I know. And I appreciate the offer, but I doubt I will.” I never have before.

“Okay.” He takes a breath, nibbling on his bottom lip for a few seconds before meeting my eyes again. “Were you ever in love with your wife?”

“No.” I reply quietly, regretfully. And he seems taken aback by how quickly I gave him my answer, like he was expecting me to at least consider if for a while. But I don’t need to. I’ve asked myself the same question before, I’ve known the answer for over a decade, and there’s no point pretending I don’t. “I wanted to be. I tried to be, I _really_ tried. I thought it would solve everything, that I could just be straight and in love and live happily ever after.” I laugh at how absurd it sounds now, but back then it truly seemed like the answer to all of my problems. The only answer. “But, no, I wasn’t ever in love with Natalie. I love her, she’s amazing, and… she’s probably the best friend I have right now. But… it’s not the same.”

“So… the only person you’ve ever been in love with was that guy you told me about before? The one you were with before you met her?”

No.

Zac was the first person I ever fell in love with, but he’s no longer the only. And I can tell from the way Tommy’s looking at me that he knows it. And he’s also hoping I won’t say it.

Again.

“Yeah.”

“Do you still see him?”

“All the time.” I admit, unable to keep myself from smiling faintly at the way his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Nothing’s happened between us for months. Not since…” I was about to say New York, but I get the feeling that he’ll think I’m specifically talking about the night we met. I am, but I don’t want him to freak out and assume that I dumped a guy I’d been in love with for most of my life over one drunken kiss. “Not since June.”

He frowns a little as he pushes himself back up onto his elbows, his eyes searching mine, trying to find the truth. “What happened?”

“Nothing really. I mean, it’d been coming for a long time. Things just… changed, I guess. How we felt about each other changed, it just took a while to see it because we’d been together for so long that we didn’t think to question it. But when we stopped, and looked, and really thought about it, things just weren’t the way they had been before. We were together out of habit, and that… wasn’t a good enough reason. It wasn’t a good enough reason to be together, and it wasn’t a good enough reason to keep betraying people.”

“So you broke up?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re still friends?”

Good question. I don’t even know if I can honestly call us friends anymore, and that completely breaks my heart. But if I tell him we’re not friends, he’s going to wonder why we still see each other so much. And if I tell him we work together, it narrows down the list of candidates way more than I’m comfortable with. But it’s not like I can tell him that we’re brothers, either.

“We’re… working through things. I hope we can be friends again, one day.”

He nods slowly, staring down at the grass beneath us and running his fingertips through it absentmindedly. “What about the other guy?”

“What other guy?”

“That guy from Phantom Planet. Alex?”

“What about him?”

“Do you still see him?”

“No.” I reply somewhat sadly, my own fingers curling in the green grass and picking a few blades of it. “We stopped hanging out pretty much as soon as I got back together with Natalie after she got pregnant.”

“Oh.”

“She didn’t like him, and she’d heard rumors…” He looks surprised, and more than a little intrigued, and I can’t help but smile. “Not those kind. The rumors about us fooling around started before anything even happened between us, and she never believed them. Most people didn’t. But there were other rumors later, about me spending a lot of time with him while we were recording our third album, and about how I was getting into some not so wholesome stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Coke, mostly.” Again, his eyes widen, and his mouth drops open a little. “Not true. At least, not on my part. I can’t speak for him. Well… I could, but I won’t.” I laugh quietly, trying to dispel some of the tension that’s settled over us. I don’t think it works, though. “Anyway, Natalie thought he was a bad influence, and she was probably right. She gave me this whole spiel about how I was going to be a father and how we needed to be careful about the kind of people we let into our kid’s lives… and Alex thought I was an idiot for marrying her… I don’t know. It felt like I was being pulled in every conceivable direction, and I just wanted it all to stop. So I made a choice.”

“You chose her.”

It’s not a question, because he obviously knows the answer. And it takes me a moment to understand why he felt the need to say it, why he even brought this subject up in the first place. And then it hits me: he’s trying to find a pattern. He’s trying to pinpoint a length of time or a turning point in my past relationships with guys.

He’s trying to figure out his “shelf life”. He wants to know how little it will take for him to lose me.

And I don’t know what to say to him!

I feel like I should promise him that I would never cut ties with him if Natalie ever asked me to. But would I? I wouldn’t _want_ to, but what else could I do? Besides what I’m already doing, which is lying to her and seeing him behind her back whenever I can sneak out of town. But the only reason I can do that now is because she doesn’t really know that he even exists. I know from experience that when she _knows_ who it is I’m making up excuses to see, and she doesn’t approve, she’s much more vigilant and much less accommodating. I have to think up more complex and convincing stories, I have to look her in the eyes and flat out _lie_ to her. I wasn’t willing to do that for Alex. I liked him, he was a good guy and his friendship _was_ important to me. But I wasn’t in love with him. I couldn’t choose him over my wife and child.

But Tommy…

What about Tommy?

Yes, our situation is different. My feelings for him are _very_ different…

But at the end of the day, is it enough to change anything?

I think we’re both wondering the same thing, and I’m afraid that he’s coming up with the same answers (or lack of answers) as I am. So, in a panic induced effort to take his mind off of _my_ past relationships, I ask the first stupid question that comes to mind.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He asks in genuine confusion and, if I’m not mistaken, apathy.

“Have you ever been in love before?”

He stares at me for a while, like it’s a stupid question to ask and I already know the answer to it, and he’s just waiting for me to realize it. But eventually he shakes his head and looks back down at the grass he’s been idly plucking.

“I don’t know. I thought I was a few years ago, but…” With a barely noticeable shrug, he exhales an unamused chuckle. “No, I’m pretty sure I haven’t. I mean, I’ve loved girls I’ve been in relationships with, but… I don’t think I’ve ever been _in_ love before.”

I can’t stop looking at him. I’m so wrapped up in wishing that I could read his mind that when he eventually looks up at me again, he catches me openly gazing at him. And I don’t even care. All I care about right now is this stare we’re locked in. It’s as though someone pressed a pause button and neither of us can look away even if we want to. I just keep thinking “ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I never wanted to do this to you, you’re everything I want_” and hoping that if I hold his stare long enough, maybe somehow he’ll know.

As the sound of another approaching plane chases away the relative silence around us, he finally looks up, letting himself lie back down on the grass to watch it fly overhead, and I slowly do the same. And that’s basically how we stay for the next few hours, side by side on a sunny patch of grass, staring up at the sky. I think we both have too much on our minds to make conversation, and strangely enough the quiet isn’t even uncomfortable, not really.

By the time he sits up and suggests we leave, the light around us has completely changed. The bright blue skies above have given way to a soft, pink and orange glow, and everything is a little darker than it was before. We’re pretty much the only two people still out here, and if it weren’t for all of the cars driving by on the busy street beside us, I might be able to believe that we’re the last two people in Los Angeles. It’s impossible not to smile at the thought, but when he asks me what’s so funny, I just shake my head and tell him it’s nothing.

“So… what do you wanna do now?” He asks quietly as we cross the street and make our way back through the In-N-Out Burger parking lot.

“I don’t know.”

I’m definitely not hungry yet, and even if I was, I think it’s too early for dinner. And it’s too early to go somewhere and get a drink (at least, it is for most people). That pretty much leaves us with his apartment or my hotel room, both of which feel a little unsafe after the truths we’ve told this afternoon. They’re too secluded, and I don’t think he really wants to be completely alone with me right now. I get the feeling he doesn’t trust me to keep up the “just good friends” routine, and he’s probably right not to. I barely managed to keep myself from telling him that I love him and begging him to reconsider our breakup while we were talking earlier, I doubt my willpower is going to _increase_ over time.

“What’s your favorite place in L.A.?”

“What?”

“Like… when you were recording out here before, where did you go for fun?”

I turn the key in the ignition, starting the car and backing out of the parking space while I give his question some serious thought. Truth is, we never really had much fun back then because we were always so busy working our asses off trying to please Jeff fucking Fenster and the rest of the tone deaf morons at Island Def Jam. And when we did emerge from the studio, we usually just went to a show or something to try to unwind and remember what it was that we loved about the music business, why we even still bothered putting out hearts and souls on the line just so Jeff Fenster could tell us it wasn’t enough. But again, it’s a little too early for any bands to be playing, so that’s not really an option either.

There was only one other place that I really used to go when we lived out here, and I haven’t been there in years. I wouldn’t say that I went there for fun, but it was the perfect place to take a step back, catch my breath, and clear my head. And maybe that’s exactly what we both need right now.

“I know a place.” I tell him simply, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I head towards 405.

Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t ask me where I’m taking him. He just asks me for my phone and then plugs it into the FM transmitter that’s sitting in one of the cup holders between us. It reminds me of the night we drove to Oklahoma City together, only everything seemed much easier back then. He didn’t ask for my phone, he reached into my pocket and took it. He wanted to touch me, he wanted to flirt. He wasn’t afraid of getting too close.

After searching through my music library for a minute or two, he settles on something by Jeff Buckley, and I try not to take the song choice personally as the melancholy lyrics fill the small space inside the car.

_Don't fool yourself  
She was heartache from the moment_

_That you met her_

It’s probably just a coincidence that he picked this song. He’s a Jeff Buckley fan, I’ve known that for months.

_My heart feels so still  
As I try to find the will to forget her_

_Somehow…_

The only reason this song is getting under my skin right now is because I feel guilty. I bet he’s not even thinking about our shitty situation. I mean… yeah, okay, he looks kind of miserable, staring out of the window with his forehead resting against the cold glass. But that doesn’t _mean_ anything.

_Oh my tears are falling down as I try to forget  
Her love was a joke from the day that we met_

God, _please_ let this song end soon!

Finally, the music and Jeff’s hauntingly heartbroken voice begin to fade out, and it feels as though there’s a little more oxygen in the car now than there was for the last four minutes. It’s a little easier to breathe.

Until the next song starts.

_Will someone please call a surgeon_  
Who can crack my ribs and repair this broken heart  
That you're deserting for better company __

Why do I get the feeling that my iPod’s uncanny ability to shuffle through the _thousands_ of songs in my library and pick the _worst_ ones possible for whatever mood I’m in is going to make this one hell of a long drive?

We pull into the parking lot of the Griffith Observatory an hour later, just as the sun is disappearing over the horizon, plunging the city into a darkness that will only grow deeper as the minutes tick by. When I turn off the engine and unbuckle my seat belt, I notice that Tommy is making no move to get out of the car. He’s just staring at the large, domed building in front of us as though he has no clue what it is.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He flashes me a smile which looks completely and utterly forced, but I don’t have chance to question him further before he undoes his seatbelt and opens the passenger side door.

The silence accompanies us from the car, past the perfectly manicured lawns, and up the steps to the main doors like an unwelcome third wheel. I still get the feeling that he’s upset at me, and I’m sure the drive over here, with its wrist-slashing soundtrack, didn’t make whatever he’s feeling any better. I just wish I had some clue what to say to him to make right whatever I did wrong.

Being one of the few free attractions in Los Angeles, we don’t have to wait in line or even buy tickets, we just head right inside, bypassing all of the exhibits and ignoring all of the information plaques. As interesting as I’m sure it all is there’s really only one reason I come here, and it’s not to see something that anyone could ever shut away inside this building. In fact, I think out of all of the times I’ve been here in the past, I only stopped to look around indoors on the first visit. But as soon as I took the stairs up to the observation deck and saw what was out there, I had no interest in anything else. I always made a beeline for it on every visit after that.

Hopefully Tommy will find it just as breathtaking as I did, and hopefully it’ll help to make him forget whatever it is that’s bothering him. For a little while, at least.

And for a moment, when we first step out onto the deck and see the city laid out before us, glittering lights floating in an endless indigo sea, his smile is completely genuine. I stand back and watch as he slowly approaches the edge and leans on the stone wall, taking it all in and probably wondering how the silent city below could possibly be comprised of the same bustling, non-stop streets he’s known his whole life. But after that initial wave of awe has washed over him, the smile begins to fade from his lips more and more, until finally I can’t bring myself to stand wordlessly beside him any longer.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.” He replies again, shaking his head faintly and refusing to look me in the eyes. In fact, he turns his head further away from me so that I can’t even see his profile any more.

“Tommy, come on. I know something’s wrong. What did I do?”

“Nothing.” Thankfully, this time it doesn’t sound like a total lie, and when he eventually looks me in the eyes, I can tell that it’s not. “You didn’t do anything, I promise.”

“So what’s wrong?”

He’s quiet again, staring off into the night, and I’m just starting to think that I’m not going to get an answer when he speaks up again. “When I was like… eleven, my class came here on a field trip.” Another small smile forms on his lips, a nostalgic one that’s neither entirely happy nor sad. “We were all so fucking excited. We never really got to go on field trips, and we all thought it was gonna be so cool. We were convinced we were gonna be able to see Mars or something, maybe even some aliens.”

“Did you?” I laugh quietly, trying to picture him at that age but merely succeeding in imagining him exactly as he is right now, only a lot shorter and without the piercings and five o’clock shadow.

“I don’t know. You’d  have to ask the rest of my class.” He shrugs, leaving me more than a little confused. “I got mono and couldn’t go.”

“That sucks.”

“Yup. And I made _damn_ sure everyone knew it.” He chuckles bitterly. “I never let up about it the entire time I was home sick, I drove my parents nuts.”

“You were a kid.” I tell him sympathetically, understanding why the memory of it makes him feel guilty but wishing he wouldn’t be so hard on himself. “It’s kind of in the job description to drive your parents nuts, trust me.”

“Maybe.” He sighs, turning his back on the view in front of us and leaning against the wall as he gazes down at his feet and takes a deep breath. “Anyway… one Saturday, after I was better, my dad brought me here as a surprise, to make up for me missing my field trip.”

“Really?” I ask, a large smile spreading across my face for a second, but quickly evaporating when I notice that the memory doesn’t seem to be bringing him any joy at all. “What happened?”

“I was a little shit about it, that’s what happened. I pouted the whole time, refused to look at any of the exhibits, and wouldn’t even set foot out here.” He gestures half-heartedly to the deck around us, his voice wavering with emotion. “I made some asshole comments about how I didn’t want to come here with _him_ , and how it wasn’t any fun without my friends. I kept telling him I was bored and I wanted to go home.”

How?

 _How_ , out of the thousands of places in Los Angeles we could have gone to tonight, did I manage to choose a place that holds bad memories of him and his father?!

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize, I wouldn’t have brought you here if-”

“No, I’m okay.” He assures me sincerely, though he still looks so sad that I don’t know how to believe him. “It’s just… I _knew_ I was wrong, you know? I knew it the whole time we were here, and I knew it in the car on the drive home… but I never said sorry. I don’t know why. I guess I was too ashamed of what I’d said and how much I’d hurt his feelings. I didn’t want to think about it, so I tried to forget it ever happened. But… you know how there are these moments that you just randomly think about sometimes? Like… they’re so small, but they _always_ come back to you one way or another.”

I nod slowly, knowing that I definitely have more than a few of those in my past. “Yeah.”

“It’s one of those things you feel shitty about _every_ time it crosses your mind, and you want to say sorry, but it seems like it’s too late and it won’t mean anything anymore, and you don’t want to remind the other person of what a jerk you are, so you just… don’t.”

“I know what you mean.”

“And then the person you wanted to say sorry to is gone, and you can _never_ say it. And it’s like all of the things you wish you’d apologized for but didn’t are _all_ you can think about. They just end up on a long list of regrets, things you wish you’d done and never did, and now you don’t even know _why_.”

There’s really nothing I can say to make him feel any better. I could tell him that his father knew he was sorry, but I think we’d both know that I have no clue if he did or not. I hope he did, for both their sakes, but there’s no way Tommy will ever know now.

Without stopping to worry if it’s okay, or if it breaks any of the unwritten rules of our new “friendship”, I reach out and gently tug on the sleeve of his leather jacket, pulling him out of the staring match he’s having with the ground and guiding him closer. He seems a little uncertain at first, but as soon as I wrap my arms around him, he slips his arms around my waist and hugs me back tightly, burying his face in my chest. He doesn’t break down, but I really didn’t expect him to. He’s never struck me as a crier, despite how in touch he obviously is with his feelings. He doesn’t need to shed tears to show emotion.

We remain that way for a while, wrapped protectively around each other, secluded in our own little bubble, ignorant of the people milling around on the observation deck. There aren’t many of them, not enough to make either of us worry about being recognized. And other than a few odd looks they cast our way, no one bothers us.

When he pulls back a little, just enough to look up at me and offer me a weak, grateful smile, all I can think about is kissing him. I know I shouldn’t, he made it clear that he thinks we should stick to being friends. But this isn’t even about trying to get him back. It’s not about passion or lust, it’s not about wanting anything from him. It’s about loving him so damn much that, right here in this moment, I can’t _not_ kiss him. If I don’t, it’ll just be one more thing that ends up on _my_ list of regrets.

And lord knows I don’t need any more of those.

He doesn’t pull back when my lips brush over his, he doesn’t try to push me away, his body doesn’t even tense in my arms. His lips move lightly against mine in an easy back and forth of gentle bumps and grazes, neither of us trying to coax the other into something more because this is enough. It’s more than enough. Everything feels so slow: our kisses; our breathing; the soft strokes of my fingertips against his jaw line, and his hands drifting over the fabric of my t-shirt.

But I can feel his heart beat, and just like mine it’s anything but slow.


	25. Chapter 25

  


 

 

I hate it when I don’t know if I’ve done something wrong. Sometimes I think I hate it even more than _knowing_ I’ve done something wrong. That uncertainty and self-doubt is stifling, it just hangs in the air everywhere you go, getting heavier and heavier, making it hard to even breathe. And you don’t want to _ask_ if you did something wrong, because if you didn’t then all you’re going to succeed in doing is bringing it to someone else’s attention that you feel guilty about something. So you just have to wait it out in uncomfortable insecurity, hoping that the person you fear you might have wronged will unknowingly absolve you of all blame somehow.

Even though he kissed me back, I can’t stop thinking that Tommy is mad at me. Or at the very least regrets letting it happen. Ever since the kiss ended, he’s been quiet. I mean, he was quiet before, but I thought he was upset with me then, too. And then we talked, and things felt a little better… and then I kissed him, and now everything is weird again. He seems tense, and I _know_ I’m tense. Why couldn’t I have just kept my stupid lips to myself? I swear my mouth is nothing but trouble.

When I pull the car over outside his apartment building, I leave the engine running. I’m pretty sure only one of us is going to be getting out of the car here, so there’s no point in me turning the engine off. He sighs heavily as he unbuckles his seat belt, keeping his eyes focused on what his fingers are doing so that he won’t have to look at me. But once he’s done, there’s nothing left for him to do but say goodnight and get out of the car. And suddenly everything feels ten times more awkward than it did five seconds ago.

“You know how we were talking about regrets before?” He asks quietly, and I can feel his eyes on me before I even turn my head to look at him.

“Yeah…”

He takes a long, slow breath. Here it comes… “I can’t decide which I’d regret more: asking you to stay or letting you leave.”

At first, I feel relieved. I was so sure that he was going to tell me that he wished I’d never kissed him. And maybe he does regret what happened at the observatory, but apparently not so much that he’s too pissed to even consider inviting me up to his apartment. But the relief has barely washed over me before it’s obliterated by anxiety and doubt all over again.

 _Regret more_.

He didn’t say regret, he said regret _more_. No matter what happens between us at this point, he’ll have regrets. There’s no way for either of us to get through this without them, we’re in too deep now, there’s no easy way out.

“I’m sorry about before.” I tell him as honestly as I can, though it’s hard for me to be sincerely sorry for anything that involves being close to him. “If you want to just forget it, I totally understand. I mean, I didn’t assume anything was gonna change because of it, I wasn’t even _trying_ to change anything. I just…”

“Wanted to kiss you.” He concludes for me, but I can tell from the small, sad smile on his face that it’s not _my_ thought he’s finishing.

I want to assure him that, even if he does invite me in, nothing has to happen between us. I don’t want him to think that that’s the choice he’s actually making here. But deep down, we both know it is. If he asks me up to his apartment, _something_ is going to happen. We can lie to each other and to ourselves all we want, say whatever we have to in order to convince ourselves that we’re in control of how we feel. But we’re not. I honestly don’t remember a time when we ever have been.

“I should probably just go.”

He nods slowly, his gaze falling dejectedly to his lap. “Probably.”

“Maybe we can do something tomorrow, though.” I suggest hopefully, though I probably sound more desperate than hopeful to him.

Because I am.

“Sure. I don’t have any plans or anything, so if you wanna hang out just call or text me.”

“Okay.”

With one last attempt at a smile he opens the passenger side door, and I watch him get out of the car. All the while, the only thing I can think about is the fact that I’m about to go back to my hotel room, _alone_ , and spend the rest of the night replaying the kiss we shared at the observatory over and over in my mind, wishing he hadn’t regretted it and wondering what might have been if he’d wanted me to stay.

Maybe I should stop by a liquor store on the way back; I highly doubt the contents of my minibar will be of any kind of help to me.

“Taylor?” I look over at him in surprise as he leans down and peers back into the car at me. I can see the fear written all over his face just as clearly as I can see the hope in his dark brown eyes. “Do you wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Tomorrow?”

The tension in his expression breaks, just a little, and he rolls his eyes at me. “No. Now.”

“Oh.”

Wait…

Does that mean…?

No. It doesn’t mean _anything_. I have to snap out of this, it’s just a movie!

“Sure.”

I smile at him a little before finally putting the car into park and taking the keys out of the ignition while he closes the door. And without the soft hum of the car engine, everything feels uncomfortably quiet. I take a breath, slowly getting out of the car and following him up to his apartment. I keep repeating to myself that it’s just a movie, nothing is going to happen, I shouldn’t try to _make_ anything happen, maybe I should even stop him is _he_ tries to make something happen. I’m so preoccupied with my own thoughts that, if he spoke, I didn’t hear a word he said to me the entire walk up from the street. Not until we step inside and he turns on the light, which seems to automatically snap me out of my internal dialogue.

For a moment we stand in awkward silence, looking around at the semi-tidy living room, and eventually he seems to give up on thinking of anything to say and simply walks off towards the kitchen. I follow at a distance, coming to a stop by the small breakfast bar and watching him open the refrigerator and stare aimlessly inside.

“You want a coke, or a beer, or some-”

“Beer is fine.” Beer is great. Beer is alcohol. Alcohol makes everything easier.

While he grabs a couple of Coors out of the fridge, I perch on the edge of one of the nearby barstools, just so I’m not standing around feeling like an idiot. Sitting around feeling like an idiot is much better. But as I glance down at the breakfast bar, I notice a post-it note stuck to it.

_T_

_L8R_

_D_

“Uh… you’ve got mail.” I chuckle somewhat uncertainly, prying the sticky, yellow square off of the fake granite surface and trading it for a beer.

He frowns as he takes it from me and reads it, downing a long sip of his drink before lowering the can. “Looks like it’s just us tonight.”

“How do you know? All it said was ‘later’.”

“We kinda have a code.” He shrugs with a smile, balling up the post-it. “It makes life easier, and plus we’re both too lazy to write anything more detailed.”

“So ‘later’, with an eight, means…?”

“He’s not gonna be home until really late.”

“Makes sense.”

“And ‘out’ means he’s gonna be gone a while, but he’ll probably be in for the night. BBS means-”

“Be back soon.” I cut in, feeling way too proud of myself, like it isn’t internet slang that’s been in use for _years_.

“Right. And then there’s DWU...”

DWU? What would that be? DWI is ‘driving while impaired’, so DWU must be… “Driving while… unimpaired?”

I can tell I’m wrong by the way he cracks up and almost spits his mouthful of Coors all over the kitchen. But even though my guess was apparently so off that it’s causing him to choke, I still can’t help smiling. I love making him laugh, and I feel like I’ve barely been able to these past few days.

“No.” He shakes his head, wiping his mouth and setting his beer on the counter as he calms down. “It’s ‘don’t wait up’. It either means he’s planning to crash at a friend’s place or he’s pretty sure he’s gonna get laid.”

“Huh.”

“He doesn’t use that one very often.” He flashes me a devilish smile, which makes it impossible for me to think straight.

Which is why I end up blurting out, “how often do _you_ use it?”

For a long, _long_ moment, there’s nothing but silence. I can almost hear crickets chirping as he stares at me with a blatantly obvious “did you _really_ just ask me that?” look on this face. By now, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by the free-flowing stupidity that comes out of my mouth, but I still somehow manage to leave myself speechless way too frequently.

Luckily, when he finally looks away from me, he’s laughing quietly (although awkwardly) to himself. “Well… for like the last six months I haven’t used it at all because I haven’t been here. But before that… I used it on a semi-regular basis, I guess.”

“Right.”

I know I should feel better, because he answered the question and he doesn’t appear to hate me for asking it. It’s done; we can forget it and move on. Except that I _can’t_ , because now I’m wondering if he used it on a “semi-regular basis” because he crashed at his friend’s houses a lot or because he got laid a lot. And if he got laid a lot, was it with the same person, or did he sleep around? Not that it should matter, because it was before we ever met. And even if he _has_ slept with one hundred different people, that doesn’t make him a bad person. I know him well enough to know better. But still…

“I was seeing someone before tour started.” He clarifies with a shrug and a sip of his beer. “Dave kinda creeped her out, so we always just stayed at her place.”

“He creeped her out?” I chuckle softly, thinking back to the other morning and how uncomfortable things had been between us. It was weird, sure, but I didn’t think he was _creepy_.

“Yeah, she said he looked at her funny. I figured she was just like… over-sensitive or whatever, but it wasn’t a deal breaker or anything, so I just let it go. But it turned out she was over-sensitive about pretty much _everything_. And that _was_ a deal breaker for me. I can’t be bothered with that clingy, needy, change-everything-about-yourself-to-suit-me bullshit, you know? It’s like being smothered.”

“Definitely.”

“I mean, she wanted me to call her _every_ day when I was on the road.”

“You mean like I did?” I attempt to sound teasing, though I can’t help but feel a little concerned that _I_ came off as clingy and needy too, and that sooner or later he’s going to get sick of me just like he got sick of her.

He rolls his eyes, smirking at me in a way that lets me know there’s no comparison in his mind. “ _So_ not even the same thing.”

“Oh no?”

“No! You didn’t _tell_ me to call you every day, you didn’t text me every ten minutes asking me where I was and who I was with and what I was doing, and you didn’t throw a total bitch fit if I called you an hour later than I said I would because I had no cell phone reception or I got stuck at sound check or whatever.” This is all true, and I feel stupidly proud of myself for it. “Besides… I wanted to talk to you every day, too.”

I could try to control the smile on my face, but I’m pretty sure I’d fail. “You did?”

“Well… yeah.” He looks down at his beer, exhaling a timid breath of laughter as a faint blush rises on his pale cheeks. “You know what it’s like to be on tour. You know how it feels to live out of a suitcase for months, and fall asleep in one state and then wake up in another. You know how cool it is to see fans hanging out by the buses just to say hi, and how fucking exhausting it feels when they like shove a camera in your face the second you get off of a plane after a fourteen hour flight. You know the good stuff and the bad, and you just… you get it, you know? And… you get me.”

The last three words are spoken at a much lower volume than the rest of his shy admission, but I still heard them loud and clear. “Ditto.”

Another silence follows, but it’s nowhere near as strained as the one we suffered through a few minutes ago. There’s an understanding between us, one that was previously unspoken and has finally been put into words. But even though things between us feel more settled, I am possibly even more unsure of where we stand with each other now than I was before.

“So… movie?” He eventually asks, clearly trying to change the subject and help us escape from this strange uncertainty.

“Sure. What’d you have in mind?”

“Well, I’ve got like a million DVDs, so we should be able to find something we both wanna watch. Maybe. Eventually.”

I slip off of the stool I was sitting on and follow him across the apartment towards the living room, where two large, floor-to-ceiling bookcases are crammed _full_ of DVDs. I’m not gonna lie and say it’s the biggest movie collection I’ve ever seen, but it’s definitely impressive. Picking just one could take a while.

“They’re arranged alphabetically.” Tommy informs me sheepishly, placing his beer on the coffee table and clearing away some magazines and opened mail so that I can do the same. “I’m kind of a huge freak about it. I almost punched Dave out last year because he kept putting them back in the wrong fucking order.”

“Oh, hey, I’m the same.” I assure him understandingly. “If someone messes with my CD collection and I can’t find the one I want, I have a total conniption. It’s _not_ pretty.”

As I’m putting my beer down on the table, I notice a Netflix DVD sleeve sitting a few inches away, and my eyes idly scan over the black and white print on the front to see what it is. And as soon as I’ve read the title, I’m picking it up and waving it at him like I’m having some kind of seizure.

“Have you seen this?”

He turns from the bookshelf he’s browsing and peers at the sleeve before shaking his head. “Nah, I think it’s Dave’s. Why? What is it?”

“‘ _It Might Get Loud_ ’.”

“Sounds familiar. What’s it about?”

“It’s that documentary that The Edge, Jimmy Page, and Jack White did about electric guitars, and their careers, and how they play. It’s awesome.”

“Yeah?” He smiles and walks back over to me, taking the DVD out of my hands and briefly reading over the description before sliding it out of the sleeve. “Sounds good to me.”

We settle down on the couch together (albeit at opposite ends), enjoying our drinks as we watch three of the most influential guitar players in recent history playing and talking about how they fell in love with music and with the electric guitar, and how they developed the sound that people came to know and love them for. It’s as inspirational to me as it was the first time I ever saw it, it makes me want to spend more time playing guitar and trying to become more skilled. And I can see from the look of absolute admiration and respect on Tommy’s face as he watches (and I watch him watch), that he’s thinking the same thing. In fact, when we get to the part where The Edge is standing on a beach with his electric guitar, I half expect Tommy to get up off of the couch, grab one of the many guitars sitting around the room, and head for the beach himself!

It’s almost nine by the time the credits roll, and I was so engrossed in the documentary (and in his reaction to it) that I didn’t realize just how hungry I was until it was over. 

“You were right, that was fucking awesome.” He declares, reaching for the remote and turning the TV off. “That’s the kind of thing that makes me wanna try harder _and_ quit playing entirely at the same time.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I’ve heard you play, remember? I know you’re _way_ more talented than a decent portion of guitarists out there.”

He snorts derisively, pushing himself off of the couch and picking up our now empty beer cans before heading back to the kitchen. “I can play, I’m not gonna lie. But I’m nowhere _near_ as good as Jimmy fucking Page.”

“Maybe not, but you could definitely give Jack White a run for his money.” I assert sincerely as I follow him across the room and watch him retrieve two more beers from the fridge. But I can tell from his quiet laughter that he disagrees. “Oh, come on! He’s awesome, yes, but you’re awesome, too!”

“You’re basing this assumption on seeing me play guitar _once_ for like _ten_ seconds. I was just messing around!”

“Exactly! So imagine how high my opinion of your playing ability would be if I got to see you actually _try_.”

“Let’s hope that never happens, then.” He mocks, handing me another drink and walking away like he expects that to be the end of the discussion. “Wanna order a pizza or something?”

“Sure. But first I want to see you play.”

“You can’t always get what you want.”

Don’t I know it. “Not always, but in this instance I can.”

“Not if I refuse to play.” He counters smugly, dropping down onto the couch and smiling at me as I do the same.

“Fine.” I shrug, feigning indifference as I sip on my beer and relax against the cushions. “If you’re _that_ afraid of proving me right…”

I don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s glaring at me, and it’s one hell of challenge for him to resist taking the bait. In fact, it’s so much of a challenge that he can’t help himself. “Okay, I’ll play. But only to prove you _wrong_.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

I smile triumphantly as he gets out of his seat and goes into his bedroom to get a guitar (because apparently none of the ones scattered around the living room are good enough). I’m trying my very best to reign in my happiness over finally getting to see him play again, but I vividly remember the first time and how impressed I was, how stunned it left me. I’ve worked with a lot of amazing musicians over the years, and I’ve been in the presence of guitarists who have left me dumbfounded by their talent. I know that Tommy isn’t the most talented guitarist in the business, and maybe not even the most talented I’ve ever known personally, but he’s definitely more talented than the vast majority. And as with every other time I’ve gotten to watch a fellow musician I respect perform, I can’t shake the feeling of anticipation and excitement buzzing through my body.

He reemerges from the bedroom after a few seconds and brings the guitar he’s chosen over to the couch. I’m practically on the edge of my seat as I watch him messing around with the tuners for a moment, adjusting them so meticulously that, to an uneducated observer, it might seem as though it couldn’t possibly make all _that_ much difference. Finally, he looks up at me again, and unless I’m very much mistaken, he’s actually a little nervous. He takes a deep breath and repositions the guitar across his thigh before tucking his hair behind his ear.

“And don’t _try_ to sound bad, either.” I warn him playfully, earning another glare and a half-hearted kick to the shin. “I’m just sayin’!”

He lowers his eyes to the strings of his guitar once again, taking another moment to regain his focus and probably decide where to even start. And when he finally _does_ start, a shiver shoots down my spine. I expected to feel _something,_ butI honestly wasn’t expecting this. I feels incredible, intense, like something indescribable just passed through me. My skin is tingling with every touch of his fingers to the fret, as though it’s me he’s touching instead. I guess, in a way, it’s almost like he’s playing _me_ , not the guitar. It probably sounds crazy, but there’s something so damn _sexual_ about every move he makes. Maybe it’s just me, maybe no one else sees or feels these things when they watch him play, but I swear I have _never_ reacted this way to seeing someone play guitar before. I feel a hell of a lot warmer than usual, and my heart is pounding like a bass drum in my chest.

And when he looks up and fixes me with those mesmerizingly dark eyes of his, I can’t even remember how to inhale.

He nods to something somewhere behind me, but I can’t make my head turn to look. “Grab one.”

“Huh?”

“A guitar.” A smirk curls his lips, and I know I should probably be embarrassed by how blatantly I’m staring at him, but I’m just not.

I’m too nervous to be embarrassed.

He wants _me_ to play?

“Nah, it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not!” He protests insistently. “Go pick up a guitar before I bludgeon you to death with this one.”

There’s no way for me to get out of this without making it into a far bigger deal than it needs to be, and thus making myself look like a fool. But even as I get out of my seat and pick up one of the acoustic guitars sitting over by the wall, my hands are shaking (and not just because of what his playing is still doing to me). I can’t remember the last time I was so intimidated to play in front of someone. But he’s so fucking good, and I’m not! I mean, I can play, but not at his level. Guitar isn’t a passion for me; it’s not the instrument I was instinctively drawn to as a child, the one I’m most fanatical about. I love playing it, sure. I’ve loved playing just about every instrument I’ve ever been lucky enough to get my hands on. But I haven’t dedicated nearly as much time and effort to honing my skills on any of them as I have on the piano.

“Jump in whenever you’re ready.” He smiles encouragingly at me when I take my seat beside him again, but I can’t make my mouth move in order to smile back at him.

I guess I should be grateful that he doesn’t expect me to play _for_ him, just _with_ him. I still feel inadequate, though. I feel like I don’t have a right to even try, I’m just going to mess up the music he’s creating. It would be better for both of us if I remained an awestruck spectator rather than a bumbling participant in this little jam session he’s trying to initiate.

“Come on.” He continues to coax, giving me his best pout and puppy eyes, which does absolutely _nothing_ to help slow my hammering heart. “Are you really gonna leave me hanging out here on my own?”

Damnit.

 _Why_ does he have to be so fucking cute?!

With one last resigned sigh, I turn my attention to the guitar in my hands and try to find a good place to “jump in”. Mostly, I focus on supporting the bluesy sound he’s chosen, doing my best not to fuck up, and ultimately failing. But when I apologize for messing up, he merely scowls at me and shakes his head. For a while we stick to our roles, for lack of a better term, with me following his lead and trying to keep up whenever he changes course without warning. And the longer we play, the easier it gets and the more in sync we become, until eventually I can almost predict exactly when he’s going to try something different. It starts to feel so comfortable, and I’m much less intimidated by the whole thing than I was to begin with (although I still feel like he’s totally out of my league).

I hadn’t realized just how long it had been since I last had _fun_ making music. I haven’t written anything new in a while now, I just haven’t had the time or the motivation to sit down and be creative and spontaneous like this. And while playing shows on tour is always great, music hasn’t been this liberating for me in _months_. For the first time in a long time it feels as though it’s more about the journey than the destination, the process instead of the product.

It’s about the two of us, right here in this moment, and absolutely nothing and no one else.

He’s completely lost in the music, and I’m completely lost in him. I can’t take my eyes off of him, can’t get enough of how expertly his fingers dance over the stings, or how he flips the hair from his eyes, or bits his lower lip in the most sensual form of concentration I’ve _ever_ seen. I can feel my skin start to prickle again, feel my finger tips becoming clammy, hear my own shallow breathing echoing in my head. It’s like some form of blissfully torturous foreplay. And it only gets worse when he opens his eyes and holds my stare. I can hear the change in the music, hear us both picking up pace, the erratic rhythm matching that of our hearts, building, and building, and building…

Until my guitar is discarded on the floor, and my lips are crushed to his.

 


	26. Chapter 26

  


 

 

If I said that I hadn’t been expecting this to happen, I’d be lying.

From the second he invited me in, we both knew what the consequence would be. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’, only ‘when’. I will admit that I was expecting it to take more than one and a half beers for either of us to get to the point of simply pouncing on the other (and of course I’m the one doing the pouncing, because I have no shame). I don’t think I can really be held responsible for all of this, though. After all, _he_ was the one who asked me up here knowing full well what would happen if he did. And _he_ started the whole impromptu jam session, which somehow turned into some kind of guitar driven, psychic sex! I’ve been turned on by music before, but in all my years of playing music and jamming with other musicians, it’s _never_ felt so much like foreplay. And when he looked at me that way, with those intense, dangerously enticing eyes of his… it was all over for me.

I couldn’t _not_ kiss him.

I can’t _not_ push him back against the couch cushions, or grind my hips against his, or sink my teeth greedily into his lower lip, or shudder as he moans against my mouth and grabs at my shirt to pull me nearer.

There’s a voice in my head telling me that I should stop this. I started it, so I _have_ to be the one to stop it. It’s not fair for me to do this to him when he made it clear that he _needs_ this thing between us to be over before he gets in any deeper. He was trying to get out, and here I am pulling him back under. But it’s not like he’s fighting all that hard against it! In fact, he’s the one who deepened the kiss, and he’s the one trying to tug my shirt off so hastily that it almost hurts. He wants this just as badly as I do, maybe even more (if that’s possible). And I’m a lost cause with absolutely no self-control where he’s concerned.

So I guess we’re both screwed.

When it gets to the point where I have to stop kissing him in order for him to pull my shirt over my head, I force myself to tear my mouth away from his just long enough for him to do so. But the moment he’s done, my lips descend on his throat hungrily, leaving him writhing and gasping beneath me. As my teeth and tongue lightly graze and tease the sensitive skin of his neck, my hands begin pushing his black Metallica shirt up over his torso. And as soon as enough of his chest is exposed, I begin kissing my way down to it, groaning at the sensation of his feverishly hot skin against my lips.  It’s like I can feel his heartbeat against my tongue, radiating through my whole body. Or maybe it’s my own heartbeat, I can’t even tell, every line between us is so beautifully blurred right now.

His short nails claw at my shoulders and his hands tangle in my hair as my lips drag lightly over his belly button, my breath leaving goosebumps in its wake while my fingers work quickly to unfasten the zipper of his jeans. I’ve waited months for this, I’ve _dreamed_ of this, and now it’s _finally_ about to happen, and every inch of my body is electrified by the mere thought of it.

Until his hands go from pulling me against him to pushing me away.

I look up at him questioningly, expecting him to have somehow escaped from the lust induced daze we were both existing in only seconds ago. But all I can see in his eyes _is_ lust, and longing, and need.

Maybe this isn’t over after all.

“Not here,” He tells me breathlessly, pushing himself up on unsteady arms, forcing me to sit up as well. “Come on.”

He gets off of the couch, pulling me up behind him and immediately crushing his mouth to mine once again as he leads us across the living room and over to his bedroom door. It takes him a few seconds of groping around for the door handle before he finally manages to open it, sending us stumbling inside and tripping over discarded items of clothing all the way to his unmade bed. Before he has a chance to fall back against the mattress, I make sure to remove his shirt, and as my body settles over his on the sheets I feel nothing but the bare skin of his chest against the bare skin of mine. I would be more than completely happy if this was as far as things went between us tonight. If all I got to do was just lie here with him like this that would be fine with me.

But judging by the way his body is hopelessly rocking against mine, desperately seeking some kind of gratification, I don’t think it would be just fine with him.

My hand slips between us and comes to rest over the front of his jeans, drawing an appreciative moan from him as his hips thrust against my palm. Hearing and _feeling_ just how turned on he is leaves me so aroused that, the next thing I know, I’ve unzipped his pants and slipped my hand inside. I close my fingers around him, just for a moment, until I hear him practically whimper out a breathless “fuck”. And then something inside of me snaps. Within seconds, his jeans are unbuttoned and tugged off along with his underwear, and he’s gazing down at me with that pleading and impossible-to-say-no-to stare that I’m helpless against. Not that I was planning on (or capable of) saying no to him, or ever have been before, but still… it’s goddamn irresistible!

Somehow I manage to stop myself from simply going down on him like there’s no tomorrow, but only _barely_. It hits me right as my lips are mere millimeters from his erection that I want to savor this. We’ve both waited a painfully long time and I want to enjoy every damn second of it. I hear him inhale sharply in anticipation, and it causes my own breath to lodge in my throat as the tip of my tongue tentatively laps at his head. We both immediately dissolve into groans of pleasure, for the same and yet entirely different reasons, and he grasps the bed sheets in his hands as his hips buck towards my mouth, begging me to take this further, _faster_.

And far be it from me to deny him what he wants.

My lips slide easily down the length of him, molding to fit perfectly around him as I slowly drag them back up again. I trace every inch of him with my tongue, closing my eyes so that the sounds coming from between his soft, swollen lips seem twice as loud. They spur me on, inspiring me to do anything and everything I can to cause more of them, to make him say my name in a way that makes me moan as though he just touched me. I take my time getting reacquainted with his body, letting my hands wander over his thighs and up his sides while my mouth leisurely explores him. And he seems content to let me set the pace at first; he curls his fingers in my hair, tugging a little whenever I do something that feels particularly good for him and sighing in satisfaction when I do it again. But eventually one of his unsteady hands settles over one of mine, pushing it down from his thigh and guiding it lower, between his legs.

I slip a finger between my lips knowingly, moistening it quickly before returning my mouth to him. His body is tense as he waits for me to gently slip my finger inside of him; I can tell before my hand even touches him. But I know he’s not afraid. He isn’t on edge with fear, only anticipation. And as soon as he feels me begin to push into him, he instinctively thrusts towards my hand, groaning loudly as he grabs fistfuls of my hair and arches off of the bed. He’s so fucking hot right now, all I want to do is look him in the eyes and tell him as much, but I wouldn’t dare stop what I’ve started in order to do it.

When I curl my finger a little inside him, his body jerks intensely and he begs me for more, and his response is the same when I obey his command, only this time it’s even more insistent. So I carefully slide a second finger into him, taking it slowly and giving him chance to get used to the sensation because I know that it’s the first time he’s been this far. He’s holding his breath, I can hear the silence surround us as I wait for him to relax enough to react.

“God… _fuck_ …” My eyes flit up to his face, taking in the sight of his furrowed brow and his teeth buried in his bottom lip.

He’s _so_ damn beautiful.

As his body begins to move against my hand, finding a rhythm that feels good for him, my mouth envelopes his erection once more. And from that point on, everything between us begins to spiral out of control faster and faster with every passing minute. I’m so lost in what I’m feeling, and what I’m making _him_ feel, that I don’t so much as pause for a second until I hear something fall to the ground nearby. When I glance up, I see him blindly fumbling around on his nightstand, and I’m guessing the noise I heard was his now-absent alarm clock being knocked onto the floor. Eventually he finds the handle of the draw in the front and pulls it open, rooting around inside until he pulls out a small bottle of lube. He hands it to me, and I know without having to ask what he wants.

I just didn’t expect to be this nervous about it.

Maybe nervous isn’t the right word… is ‘anxious’ any better? It’s not like I’ve never topped before, I have. Just… not in a _really_ long time. I don’t know if I find it more natural to bottom, or if I’ve only ever been with guys who prefer to top and therefore I felt like I _had_ to bottom, but either way, I’ve definitely got way more experience in one area than the other. And even though I know I basically top whenever Nat and I have sex, it’s _so_ not the same thing. It might seem like it is, but it isn’t.

Don’t get me wrong, I want this. I want this _badly_. Ever since that night he called me from Amsterdam and told me he wanted me to fuck him (and maybe even before that), it’s been my go-to get-off fantasy, and it’s _always_ in-fucking-credible in my mind. But what if it’s not in-fucking-credible in reality? This is his first time, basically, and I don’t want to totally fuck it up and ruin it for him.

I hesitantly kiss my way back up over his stomach and chest, nipping lightly at his collarbone before finally meeting his mouth in a heated embrace. He seems so sure about this. I can’t sense even the slightest trace of apprehension coming from him _at all_ right now. His lips lead mine confidently as his hands seek out the button and zipper on my jeans and go to work unfastening both. All I can really do is try to keep up, try to match every move he makes and stay as in sync with him as I have been so far.

Which means putting my nerves on hold so that I don’t freak him out by letting on that _I’m_ a little freaked out myself.

His eyes follow my every move as I finish removing the rest of my clothes and settle myself between his legs, and he focuses his undivided attention on my hands as I pick the bottle of lube up from on top of the comforter beside us and pour a little into my palm. I can’t tear my eyes away from his face as he watches in aroused impatience while I curl my fingers around my own erection and stroke slowly, coating it with the lube before reaching back down between his legs and easily slipping two fingers back into him again. He moans eagerly, his eyes locked with mine as I push into him a little deeper all the time. I can feel my trepidation begin to fade more and more with every purposeful thrust.

“It’s okay, I’m ready.” He pants, his fingers closing around my forearm and pulling my hand away. “I want you to.”

I swear to God, if he says anything else to me in _that_ tone of voice, with _that_ look in his eyes, it’s all gonna be over for me before we even get started!

In an effort to calm my racing heart, I take a long, shaky breath, shifting my body closer to his as I carefully move into position. He still seems so calm, but I see a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, just for a second. It’s gone as soon as I start to enter him. His jaw goes slack as the rest of his body goes taut, and he makes a vague sound of discomfort as he squeezes his eyes shut. It’s enough to make me freeze completely and consider pulling out. But before I have the chance, he’s staring at me again, shaking his head as though he can read my mind.

“Don’t stop.”

“Are you sure?”

Even though he smiles at me reassuringly, I still can’t help worrying that I’m hurting him and that he’s going to hate this. But when he pulls me down into another kiss, that worry quickly vanishes. He’s breathless and _so_ weak against my lips, but his hands hold onto me tightly, keeping me close and reminding me that it’s alright.

He feels… there honestly isn’t even an adequate word to describe for how he feels _or_ how I feel as our bodies meld seamlessly. And when I pause once I’m completely inside of him, it’s not only to give _him_ a chance to catch his breath and get used to how this all feels. It doesn’t really seem fair that this is so incredible for me and probably not as amazing for him. I remember my first time, and although I was in love and it was perfect in that sense, I’ve had enough experience since then to know that it _definitely_ wasn’t flawless. It was painful and clumsy and… brief. Whether that was because it was my first time or Zac’s, I don’t know. It was likely a combination of both.

Regardless, I’m determined to make Tommy’s first time less awkward and short-lived than mine was.

Once his kisses become much more responsive to mine, and I can tell that he’s finding his way out of the initial fog that the sensations overwhelming his body had left him in, I carefully begin to move inside him, drawing back a little before slowly thrusting into him again. At first, I can’t read his expression. I think it’s still uncomfortable for him, but he’s trying _so_ hard not to let it show. As difficult as it is for me to control myself when every fucking cell in my body is electrified by this moment, I hold back as much as I can, keeping every movement of my hips as slow and precise as I can possibly make it. And gradually I feel him begin to react, his body meeting mine over and over as soft sounds of pleasure drift from his mouth.

“Touch yourself.” I murmur against his ear, leaving fervent kisses along his jaw line and down his neck as he groans and willingly follows my instructions.

“Taylor…”

“Feel good?” It’s kind of a selfish question, because despite the fact that I genuinely care whether or not he’s enjoying this, part of me just want to hear him _say_ it.

His breath hitches for a moment, and he cranes his head back to give my mouth uninhibited access to every inch of his throat. “ _Fuck_ , yes!”

A smirk curls my lips as I practically growl into the skin of his neck, and he moans loudly at the sound and at the feel of me thrusting into him a little less cautiously than I had been up until now.

“Faster…” He pleads helplessly, leaving me feeling so much more powerful than anyone else ever has before, even though I’m completely at his mercy and we both damn well know it. “Y-yeah… like that…”

“Oh _God_ …”

I was trying so hard not to let myself get carried away, but as soon as the pace between us starts to pick up, everything feels so unbelievable, _too_ unbelievable. And with him whining desperately, gasping ‘yes’ and ‘oh God’ and my name, among countless other quiver-inducing things, over and _over_ against my ear with every thrust, it’s impossible for me to hold on to any shred of restraint! He’s so fucking tight, and _unimaginably_ hot, and the look of awe on his face as he gazes down to where our bodies meet is mesmerizing. It’s like he can’t quite believe this is actually happening.

And honestly, neither can I.

Two days ago, I thought I’d lost him. I thought this was over. And now it feels as though he’s unquestionably mine and nothing can take him from me. I wish this moment could last indefinitely, that I could just stay this close to him, and everything could remain this simple.

“I-I’m close,” He tells me, his tone simultaneously eager and disappointed, and it makes me realize just how close I am myself.

“Fuck, Tommy…”

I can’t tell which of us is going to come first, our moans mingle in the air around us, growing louder and louder as we frantically attempt to maintain some semblance of a rhythm. Our bodies collide erratically, again and again. My eyes are glued to his face, completely mesmerized as he throws his head back and cries out in ecstasy, his fingertips digging urgently into the skin at my waist. His orgasm has barely subsided before my body tenses and thrusts into him one last time, and I find myself spellbound by the smile of total contentment on his face as I come inside him.

 


	27. Chapter 27

  


 

 

If I should die right here and now (and part of me would be okay with that because I find it hard to believe that life gets much better), I want my epitaph to read:

_Here lies Jordan Taylor Hanson._

_He LOVED sex._

Well, mostly just sex with guys, if I’m completely honest. Not that sex with girls does nothing for me, but if I had a choice, I’d always choose to have sex with a guy instead.

 _This_ guy, in particular.

Although, judging by the way he’s frowning at his bedroom ceiling like there’s a complicated math problem written on it, I’m not so sure the feeling is mutual.

Aaand there goes my blissed out, post-sex high.

“Are you okay?” I ask nervously, still a little breathless but barely enough for it to show.

He turns his head to the side, until he can look me in the eyes and I can see his gentle smile. But I’m still not convinced. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You don’t look good.” Jeez, that came out completely wrong. Though thankfully he looks more amused than offended. “I don’t mean you don’t look good, because you do. You look _damn_ good, actually.”

“Thanks.” He smirks playfully.

“I just meant that you look like something’s bothering you.”

The long, weary breath he takes as he refocuses his attention on the ceiling does absolutely nothing to quell my fears. “Nothing’s _bothering_ me…” Well _that’s_ reassuring. “I guess I’m just like… trying to figure out how pissed off I am at myself.”

“For…?”

“This.” He replies somewhat bluntly, but without a shred of hostility in his tone. “Less than forty-eight hours ago I was sitting in your car, telling you we should slow things down and just be friends. And I’m pretty sure most friends don’t do what we just did.”

“Some do.” I offer lightly, in a desperate attempt to make him smile again or maybe even laugh a little.

Thankfully, it works. “Some, but not most. And I don’t see how this really helps with the whole ‘distance’ thing I was going for.”

“Right.” Fuck distance. “Sorry.”

I know there are a million reasons why this can’t just be simple, but none of them seem even slightly valid right now. This makes _so_ much sense, so much more sense than the vast majority of things in my life. I don’t understand why it has to be so difficult, why I couldn’t have met him years ago, or why I can’t just be with him now.

How can this feel so damn right if it’s wrong?

Why are we so fucking perfect together if we’re not meant to _be_ together?

“Don’t be sorry.” He urges me, and I can already hear the smile in his tone before I even look at him. “I’m not.”

The look on his face is nothing but flirtatious, he doesn’t seem troubled or uncertain at all anymore, and it makes it impossible for me to concentrate on the conversation we’ve been having and avoid staring at his lips. I know I shouldn’t just ignore this when I still have no idea where his mind is at. For all I know he’s going to want to ‘just be friends’ again tomorrow morning and I’m going to feel like shit. It’d be better for both of us if we talked it all out right here and now.

But I _really_ want to kiss him.

He sighs softly against my mouth as I roll towards him and press my lips to his, wrapping an arm loosely around his bare waist and pulling him up against me, sweaty skin to sweaty skin. The kiss is slow at first, especially compared to the lust fuelled kisses we were sharing just a little while ago. But I can already tell that all it would take from him is one touch, one sound, one look and I’m going to be demanding a repeat of what we just did.

“By the way,” He pecks my lips temptingly, brushing the tip of his nose against mine before fixing me with the most sultry stare I think he’s _ever_ given me. “You look damngood, too.” Don’t do it, Tommy. I won’t be held responsible for my actions if you say even _one_ more word. “I wouldn’t kick you out of bed. Not unless it was to fuck you on the floor, anyway.”

With those words, and a teasingly sharp bite to my lower lip, I give up on showing any kind of self-restraint at all. I don’t think he can really blame me; _everything_ about him is just begging me do things to him that no one else has ever done before.

And I’m _more_ than happy to oblige.

Neither of us is physically capable of anything more than fooling around, but that’s fine by me. Spending countless minutes tangled up in his bed sheets with him, hearing him make sounds that make me feel more incredible than I can remember feeling at any point in my life so far, is definitely not a waste of time in my book. But when we eventually admit ‘defeat’ and migrate to the shower, things suddenly start… looking up. In the process of getting clean, we manage to get dirty all over again, leaving us both with barely enough energy to stay on our feet and wash off for the second time.

We collapse back onto his bed in a damp, satisfied heap, favoring the much less exhausting option of “air drying” instead of drying off with a towel. I’m about ready to pass out, but I just _know_ that the gnawing hunger pains in my stomach are going to keep me awake until I eat something. And before I have a chance to ask him if he’s hungry, too, I hear his stomach growl loudly.

“Sorry.” He snorts, placing a hand over his tummy and sighing deeply. “I guess I should probably do something about that.”

“Me too. I’m _starving_.”

“Well… I make a mean PB&J. But other than that, I’m not sure there’s a whole lot out there that’s worth eating. All we really had in the fridge this morning was beer and some pretty questionable looking left-over pizza, and I doubt Dave has restocked since then.”

“I really want pancakes.” I muse aloud, leaving Tommy giggling beside me. “I do! I have a _massive_ craving for pancakes doused in maple syrup. And bacon. _God_ I could go for some bacon right now...”

His stomach grumbles again, even louder than the first time, and he swats me pathetically on the chest in retaliation. “Shut the fuck up! You’re making it _worse_!”

“You know you want some.” I taunt, propping myself up on one elbow to look down at him as he narrows his eyes scornfully at me.

“Do you _seriously_ wanna get out of bed, drive all the way to the store, and then come back here and cook breakfast at like eleven o’clock at night?!”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I wanna drive to West Hollywood and let someone else do the cooking.”

His narrowed eyes grow wider instantly, his brows jumping in surprise. “Are you _kidding_ me?!”

“Come on! There’s a great diner on Sunset that serves breakfast twenty-four-seven!”

“I don’t care!” He laughs incredulously. “I’m not driving to West fucking Hollywood in the middle of the night when I’m so tired that I can _barely_ fucking walk!”

“But think of the bacon! Imagine how it’ll smell, how it’ll _taste_ …” I continue as alluringly as I possibly can. “Hot, crispy, greasy _bacon_.”

“Oh God…”

“Your mouth is watering, just admit it!”

“I swear you’re made of pure evil.”

“You _love_ it.”

With one last glare cast in my direction, he mutters something under his breath and forces himself off of the bed, and I relax and enjoy the view as he grabs some underwear out of his dresser before walking over to the door and disappearing out into the living room.

It takes him a good half an hour or so to dry and style his hair (whereas I just let mine air dry like the rest of me) and put on a little eye shadow. I haven’t watched him put makeup on before, and it’s so much more interesting than I expected it would be; I never pay this much attention to Natalie when she’s getting ready to go out. I don’t know if it’s because I’m not as used to seeing guys put on makeup, or if it’s because he’s so precise that it make it seem as though he’s creating a work of art. Either way, it’s so fascinating to me that I can’t look away.

Until he turns around and starts coming at _me_ with his eyeliner pencil, and then I can’t get out of the bathroom fast enough.

“Do you always make sure you have makeup on before you leave the house?” I ask curiously as we step out of his apartment and he locks the door behind us.

“Not _always_. Most of the time I just put a little liner on. I’ve been doing it so long now that it’s kinda like brushing my teeth, you know? It’s just a habit, I don’t even think about it.”

I nod understandingly, feeling my lips curl into a smile as I cast a sideways glance at him. “But you wanted to put the extra effort in tonight?”

“Well, sure!” He replies in a tone that holds too much of a snarky edge to be in any way sincere. “I wanted to look pretty for _you_ , obviously.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Yeah, you’d better.” God, I _love_ it when he gets sassy with me. “Seriously, though, I figured I should try to look at least semi-decent in case there are any cute waitresses at this diner.”

At first, I laugh. Even though he sounds entirely serious, I’m convinced that he’s just messing with me. But as I take in his straight face staring back at me over the roof of my rental car, I can’t help but question whether or not it was a joke.

 _How_ can it not be a joke?!

We just had sex!

He couldn’t possibly be thinking about picking up some girl in a diner with me sitting _right_ there… could he?

Maybe we really are sill “just friends”.

Just friends with benefits, who are free to hook up with other people. It’s not like I can really begrudge him that; I’m _married_. But-

“Dude, seriously, you need to lighten up.” He chuckles quietly, shaking his head at me in amused disbelief. “Did you really think I would hit on someone in front of you?”

“No.”

Honestly, in that sane part of my mind that I very rarely listen to, I knew he wouldn’t. But I think it’s a well established fact that I have issues of record breaking proportions that prevent me from thinking and behaving like a sensible, rational person. I should probably seek some form of professional mental help. Although at this point it might be too late.

“You totally did, didn’t you?”

I shake my head, turning the key in the ignition and focusing on carefully pulling out onto the completely empty street so that I won’t have to look him in the eyes. If I do, he’ll be able to see just how pathetic and insecure I really am. Not that he hasn’t already been exposed to that truth on several occasions. And now I feel terrible, because I basically just insinuated that I think he’s a total jerk who would hit on other people in the presence of the person he just slept with. And I don’t think that _at all_. He’s _so_ far from that kind of guy.

Luckily he seems to be aware enough of my emotional problems to not have taken it personally.

“You know, your self-confidence is kinda shit for a guy who has spent the majority of his life being called sexy-”

“And being called a girl.”

He smirks but otherwise ignores my comment. “And having women of all ages throw themselves at him and offer to have his babies.”

“Or having women make websites dedicated to pointing out and dissecting my _many_ flaws, both real and fictional.” I add, trying to keep a lightness in my tone that I in no way feel.

“Whatever. I just don’t see how you can be _so_ damn unsure of yourself so much of the time. You’re fucking gorgeous, and insanely talented-”

“ _Or_ I’m a jacked up train wreck. Depends who you ask.”

“Bullshit. Even if a bunch of blind fucktards out there actually believe that, there’s _no_ way you do.”

“Oh no?”

“No.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” He laughs, but there’s an undeniable apprehension to the question.

“I’ve seen you with your fans.” I point out proudly, convinced that I’m about to invalidate every good point he thinks he just made. “They’re all over you half the time, and it’s like you have _no_ idea why!”

“It’s not that I don’t know why, it’s that it’s fucking weird to have girls you’ve never met asking you to kiss them right after you just signed their Ticketmaster printout!”

“So you’re saying that you _know_ how hot you are?”

“No!”

“So you’re saying that girls are constantly draping themselves all over you… and yet you _don’t_ know how hot you are?”

He opens his mouth to argue with me, but then seems to realize that there’s no good way for him to do so. I’ve just proved to him that having dozens, even hundreds of girls tell you how attractive you are doesn’t necessarily make you any more secure about your looks. All it takes is one person telling you the opposite, just _once_ in your life, and it’s likely you’ll never be able to shake that nagging self-doubt.

I spent my teen years center-stage, directly under a scrutinizing spotlight that I couldn’t sidestep no matter how hard I tried. Not until the media and the public had had enough of me and found someone else to fixate on. And even though I haven’t been anywhere near that famous for a long time now, I’m still paid enough attention to be constantly aware of it. Aware that my own fans are my absolute worst critics. It might be easy to shrug off hate from people who never liked you to begin with, but when it’s coming from people who once claimed to love _everything_ about you, you can’t help but wonder if maybe they’re right. It’s difficult to maintain any kind of self-confidence that’s _not_ a complete front with thoughts like those running through your head.

I wish there was some way for Tommy to avoid ever finding out how that feels, but something tells me he found out way before Adam ever hand-picked him to join his band.

People build you up so they can tear you right back down.

Welcome to Hollywood.

“You’re not a train wreck.” He says finally, though his voice is so quiet that I barely hear him over the hum of the car engine and the soft music coming from the stereo. When I look over at him, he’s gazing out of his window, and it makes me wonder if maybe he never actually said anything at all. Until he speaks again. “You’re beautiful.”

I’m aware that I’m staring at him in open-mouthed shock, and that doing so when I’m going almost seventy miles an hour on the freeway in the middle of the night is probably _not_ the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But… I don’t know what else to do. I never saw that remark coming, _at all._

That thing I said about how one person’s negative opinion of you can override every positive thing anyone else ever says? With two words, he just negated that theory. Even if it’s only for tonight.

“Ditto.”

The remainder of the drive passes without another word from either of us. The random music coming from the radio fills the silence, and despite the fact that half of it is stuff I’d never usually listen to, I’m too lazy to mess around with my iPhone and put something else on instead. I’m also too lazy to deal with parking on Sunset Strip (or anywhere within a five mile radius), which is why I’m relieved to see that the diner we’re going to still has the complimentary valet service they had last time I came here. I guess _technically_ I’m not supposed to let other people drive the rental car, but if you rent a car to someone in Los Angeles, you’ve _got_ to expect that they’re gonna use valet at some point!

Despite it being after eleven on a Thursday night, the diner is _packed_. But I’m not at all surprised, since it’s long held the reputation for being the go-to place for post-concert burgers in this part of town. It’s cheap, it’s fast, it’s friendly, and it’s open _all_ the time.

We settle into one of the few empty booths in the entire restaurant, and the waitress smiles warmly (but tiredly) at us as she hands us our menus and promises to be right back with a couple of waters. I already know that I want a huge stack of pancakes with a side of bacon and a vat of coffee, so I don’t even bother picking my menu up. Instead, I spend the next five minutes watching Tommy as he studies his menu from top to bottom, frowning and nibbling on his lower lip as though he’s debating some life and death decision.

“Can’t decide?” I finally ask when he heaves a troubled sigh and begins his menu inspection all over again.

“I don’t know if I want a Sunset Burger or the chili omelet thing.” He murmurs, mostly to himself, his eyes narrowed in careful concentration. “But that Mile High Meatloaf Sandwich sounds kinda good, too.”

“That thing is _huge_. I wouldn’t get it unless you’re really hungry.”

“I’m _really_ hungry.” He asserts immediately, glancing up at me with a flirtatious smirk which lets me know that I’m the one he blames it on. “But I want bacon…”

“So order a side of bacon. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

He laughs softly, dropping his menu on the table and slouching back against the padded booth. “But what’s it gonna be on the side _of_?”

“That’s up to you, but you’d better think fast ‘cos she’s coming back over here and I want my damn pancakes already.”

“Asshole.”

I’m still grinning at him like an idiot when our waitress approaches the table again, placing two ice waters between us and glancing expectantly back and forth to see if we’re ready to make her life easier and place an order.

“What can I get you, boys?”

“I’ll have the buttermilk pancakes and a side of bacon.”

With an appreciative smile and a nod of approval, she quickly scribbles something on her pad and turns to Tommy, who is still scouring his menu indecisively. “How about you?”

“Uh… can I get the Sunset Burger without avocado? And a side of bacon?”

“There’s bacon on the burger.”

“I know.” He replies stoically, staring back at her like her comment made absolutely no sense, which leaves me fighting to contain a giggle. “I like bacon.”

“Okay, no problem.” She chuckles quietly, noting his order down before turning to leave.

Just before she has chance to walk away, I remember the most important (or second most important, behind bacon) part of my order. “Can I get some coffee? Like… a lot of coffee? Like… a pot of coffee?”

“Uh… I’m not sure if I can get you an _actual_ pot, but I promise not to let your mug get below half full, how’s that?”

“Perfect, thanks.”

“And I’ll take a Corona.” Tommy adds quickly, which surprises me because I wasn’t even aware they served beer here.

Trust him to spot the handful of alcoholic beverages on the menu.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, I kick him playfully on the shin underneath the table to get his attention, and then I struggle to keep a straight face when he scowls at me. “I think she likes you.”

“Shut up.”

Although he tries for a laugh, it comes out as more of a bashful exhale, and he instantly averts his eyes to the condiments in front of us. But I can still see the blush begin to rise on his cheeks. “She’s cute, you should ask her out.”

“Jesus Christ, are you _still_ on that?! I was _kidding_.”

I know he was, but this is too much fun. So I roll my eyes disbelievingly. “Sure, whatever you say.”

“Fuck off! Besides, _you_ were the one she was flirting with.” He accuses, batting his eyelashes at me and raising his voice to impersonate a girl. “I promise not to let your mug get below half full.”

“She was just doing her job!”

“She wanted to do _a_ job for you, that’s for sure.”

“You already took care of that back in the shower.” I tease, more than earning myself a retaliatory shin kick. “Ow!”

“You had that coming.”

True, but that doesn’t stop me from pouting like a child. “Jeez, someone got off on the wrong side of the bed tonight.”

“Keep your fucking voice down!” He all but hisses at me in a demanding whisper. “I don’t want _everyone_ knowing I fucked the chick from Hanson.”

“Actually, I believe you got fucked _by_ the chick from Hanson.” I remind him, leaning across the table and grinning at him smugly. “But you probably don’t want everyone knowing that either, huh?”

He tries to glare at me, but it’s only a matter of seconds before his face breaks into a smile and he starts laughing. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

We fall into a comfortable silence, both of us focusing on peeling the paper back from our straws and enjoying the first few, refreshing gulps of our waters. I didn’t realize until now just how thirsty I am, but I guess it makes sense; I had a hell of a work out tonight and this is the first time I’ve rehydrated since!

But the longer we sit here, sipping on our drinks and waiting for our late-night dinners, the less cheerful I become. Replaying the conversation we’ve just had, and the one we had in the car, _and_ the one we had in bed earlier, not to mention what happened right before and after it, and everything that’s happened since I got to L.A.…

There’s no escaping the fact that I am _totally_ lost when it comes to whatever this thing between us is.

 


	28. Chapter 28

  


 

 

I have no idea what’s going on between us anymore.

This morning we were just friends, tonight we were having ( _amazing_ ) sex, and now we’re sitting here, teasing each other about flirting with a cute waitress while _actually_ flirting with each other. And as much as I hate to ruin the moment in order to bring the topic up, I know it’ll ruin the whole evening if I just sit here and let the questions eat away at me without saying a word.

“Hey, Tommy?”

“Hmm?”

His mouth opens a little, releasing the straw from his drink as he looks up at me, and for a moment I completely forget what it is I want to say because I’m so busy staring at the single drop of water resting precariously on his lower lip.

I _really_ want to lick it off…

But this probably isn’t the best time _or_ place for that.

“What is this?”

I’m half expecting him to stall with a lame attempt at pretending not to understand the question, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even seem all that surprised that I’m asking it. And I get the feeling from the way he draws in a slow breath and sits back tiredly against the booth that he’s probably been asking himself the same thing.

“I don’t know.” He finally admits apologetically.

“Do you want us to just be friends?”

“No.”

My heart leaps automatically, but I try against all odds to keep my hopes from soaring with it. “Do you want us to be more?”

“No.” There’s a melancholy smile on his face, and he shrugs once in an attempt to emphasize just how conflicted he feels. “I don’t know what I want, Taylor. I know that’s shitty of me, but it’s the truth.” I wish I knew what to say to that, but I don’t. I’m not an emotionally mature enough person to convincingly tell him that it’s okay if he wants to pretend tonight never happened. I can barely stop myself from flat out begging him to give me, this, _us_ another chance. “Everything feels so fucking easy with you, you know? We have fun together, and I can talk to you about all kinds of personal shit that I can’t seem to tell most people, and…” His smile changes, just for a second, morphing from sad to seductive. “The sex is fucking incredible.”

“I agree. With all of the above.”

“But it’s _not_ easy.”

“I know.” I sigh remorsefully, hating myself for putting him in this position _repeatedly._ “I’m sorry. It’s not fair of me to ask you for anything, I get that.”

“That’s not what I’m say-”

“No, I know, but it’s true. I wish it wasn’t this difficult, but it is. And if I knew how to change it, I would… but I don’t.”

“Me either.” He concurs, staring miserably into what’s left of his ice water. “It’s better for both of us if we just end it now.” _Fuck_. I don’t _want_ this. I can’t _handle_ this. “But… I don’t think I can.”

“Y-you don’t?”

“Well, I tried, but…” With a small jerk of his arm, he gestures vaguely between us. “We’re right back where we started. And I’m pretty sure that if we try the whole ‘just good friends’ thing again, we’re just gonna end up having this conversation again, too. So it’s like… we either go back to whatever the hell it was we had before, or we just stop talking entirely. Because I _know_ I can’t just be your friend.”

And I know I can’t just be his, either. “Well… it’s your call. I mean, whatever you decide makes the most sense for you… I’ll respect that.”

There’s a long pause, and with each passing second the anxiety chips away at my appetite, leaving an unsettling feeling of nausea in its place. Why did I have to open my big mouth? So what if this conversation was inevitable? We could have at least had tonight. I could have let it wait until tomorrow. But _no_ , I had to bring it up now. And now, instead of us enjoying our food and going back to his place and falling asleep together on his bed, we’re about to break up.

Again.

“What if I don’t wanna do what makes the most sense for me?”

Or not.

“What?”

“I know I _should_ just cut my losses, but…” He shakes his head faintly, his fingers tracing slow lines through the condensation on his glass as he watches the beads of water trickle slowly down the sides. “I guess I’m a masochist or something, ‘cause I don’t want to.”

This is probably the point at which I should be strong, and selfless, and do the right thing. I should tell him that I don’t want him to get hurt (and God knows I _don’t_ ), and that even though neither of us wants to end this, we still have to anyway.

But I think it’s a well established fact that I’m not selfless or strong, and I’m _no_ good at doing the right thing.

“So we just go back to the way things were?”

“I guess. Unless you have a better idea?”

Yes, I have a better idea: we go back to his place, pack his stuff, get my stuff from the hotel, get in the rental car, and drive. I don’t know where to. I don’t particularly care.

“I can’t think of anything.”

Our waitress chooses that exact moment to deliver our food, and I guess it’s as good a time as any. There’s nothing more to be said, and the food is a good distraction from the heaviness of the conversation we’ve just had. Eating and commenting on how good everything tastes gives us something else to do, it offers an easy transition out of the tension and back into a much lighter mood.

In fact, by the time I’ve polished off my pancakes and at least an entire pot’s worth of coffee, I’m not only feeling better about things between us, I’m feeling better in general. A couple of hours ago I was about ready to pass out from exhaustion and now I’m fidgeting restlessly in my seat, wishing the waitress would hurry up and bring our check over so that I can finally get up and move around. Tommy, on the other hand, seems just as laid back as he almost always does. He’s had two beers, and I’m pretty sure he has a very slight buzz going, but it’s hard to tell because he’s so good at hiding it.

“Let’s go for a walk.” I suggest enthusiastically once we’ve paid for our meals and finished off the last of our drinks.

“ _What_?”

“Come on!” Grabbing the sleeve of his jacket, I give him a playful tug away from the parking lot and towards Sunset Strip. “I need to walk off all that food, don’t you?”

“Actually, I mostly need to find the nearest comfortable, flat surface and pass the fuck out.” He chuckles, letting me drag him along the sidewalk regardless of his verbal protests. “Dude, you are so caffeinated right now, it’s not even funny.”

“This is nothing. You should see me when I’ve got a few of those Five Hour Energy things in me. I’ve pulled eighty hour stints in the studio on that stuff!”

“That can’t be healthy.”

“Probably not.” I shrug, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans in order to stop myself from reaching for his hand like I want to. “Hasn’t done me any harm, though.”

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far.”

“Hey!”

“Well, it’s true!” He laughs unapologetically, pushing back against me when I playfully try to side-shove him off of the curb. “You know you’re crazy.”

“But not because I drank Five Hour Energy!”

“I wasn’t blaming it on the energy drinks. I was blaming it on the eighty hour studio stints.”

“Oh.” I guess he kind of has a point there. “Still… it’s not that noticeable, right?”

“The sleep deprived insanity? Nah.”

“I’m not insane!” He nods and smiles, but he doesn’t disagree. “I’m not!”

“Oh, no, you’re _totally_ normal.” I don’t like his tone. “I know plenty of people who started rock bands before their balls dropped, had a number one single before they had their first kiss, got married before they could legally drink, and had like five kids before the age of thirty!”

“Four! _Four_ kids!” I protest, finding myself laughing along with him even though it’s not really all that funny because it’s true. “Get it right.”

“Four, five, does it even really matter? It’s all the same thing after number three, and it still makes you fucking _crazy_!”

We’re still snickering like drunken idiots when we come to a stop at a cross walk. And even though I haven’t been drinking and he’s not even tipsy, I’m sure everyone who can see us right now thinks we’re both trashed. But as we stand and wait for the walk sign, I glance across the street to the other side of the strip and something catches my eye. I’m not entirely sure why I have a sudden, uncontrollable urge to go over to it, I just do, and Tommy continues to question my sanity the entire way there.

“What are you doing?” He asks as I pause in front of the first building we come to and stare at the glowing, red sign in the window. “You wanna get a tattoo now, is that it?”

“Yes.”

“I was kidding.”

I grin at him mischievously, pushing the door of the tattoo parlor open and stepping inside. “I wasn’t.”

“Taylor, come on, this is stupid!” He laughs uncertainly, following me into the brightly lit, white room that appears to be the waiting area.

“Why? You get tattoos all the time.”

“I don’t get tattoos _all_ the time. And you were just telling me the other night how you could _never_ do something like this!”

“I said I didn’t think I could, not that I _never_ could.” I correct him quickly, flashing him a self-satisfied smile as we approach the red (and by red, I do mean _red_ ) haired girl leaning on the counter by the cash register. “I can, and I am.”

“Hey, what can I do for you guys?”

“I wanna get a tattoo!” I announce proudly, leaving her smiling in amusement as Tommy shakes his head in disbelief.

“Great, then you came to the right place! Do you have a design in mind already?”

“I seriously doubt it.” Tommy interjects before I have a chance to answer her. “Trust me, not a whole lot of thought went into this decision.”

“You’re not drunk, are you?” She asks half-seriously, quirking a perfectly tweezed and pierced eyebrow at me. “Because we have a strict policy against tattooing or piercing anyone who appears to be under the influence.”

“I’m sober, I promise.”

“Yeah, the only thing he’s under the influence of is _way_ too much coffee and maple syrup.”

“Well, then, come on back and I’ll get you set up with our design catalogs while I see if someone can fit you in before we close!”

After throwing a triumphant grin Tommy’s way, I follow the receptionist back behind the counter and into another waiting area that’s a little less brightly lit than the first. In the middle of the room are two large, black leather couches and a long coffee table with large binders placed neatly on top of it. And behind the couches are the kind of wall-mounted poster displays that you usually see in music or movie memorabilia stores, but instead of housing large pictures of celebrities, each board is _covered_ in tattoo designs. There are a couple of sliding glass doors on either side of the room, which lead to what appear to be very sterile, white rooms with chairs that look like something out of a dentist’s office.

That part makes me kinda nervous; I _hate_ the dentist.

“Just take a seat and flip through our artist’s portfolios, see if there’s anything in there that you like. My name’s Callie, by the way.”

“I’m Taylor.”

“Tommy.” He nods politely, but his smile is completely forced.

“Make yourselves comfortable and I’ll be right back in case you have any questions.”

“Thanks!”

I quickly take a seat on the couch nearest to me and pick up the first binder from the coffee table, leafing through pages and pages of photographs of the intricate body art that has apparently been created here. It makes me more and more excited to think that, by the end of the night, I’m going to finally have the tattoo I’ve wanted all my life but _never_ had the courage to actually get.

Although, I still have no idea what it’s going to be of or where on my body I’m going to get it.

Natalie is going to flip out…

But it’s _my_ body! It’s not like I’m gonna get my face tattooed to look like a cat the way that guy I once saw on TV did! I’m not going to get anything big, or showy, or tacky, and I’m not going to get it anywhere glaringly obvious or stupid.

I just want to get… something.

Somewhere.

“Why are you doing this?”

When I look up at Tommy, I find him watching me with a frown, not a trace of amusement in his expression. “What do you mean?”

“I mean _why_ are you doing this?” He repeats plainly, taking a small step closer to the couch. “Why now, why tonight?”

“Why not tonight?”

“Because you haven’t put _any_ thought into it! Why don’t we just like… go back to my place, sleep on it, and then if you still wanna do this tomorrow-”

“No, it has to be now. If I put too much thought into it, I’m not gonna go through with it.”

“So maybe that’s a sign that you don’t really want to.”

“Or maybe I’m just really good at second guessing myself and backing down from doing things I really wanna do because I’m constantly worrying what everyone else is going to think.” I challenge confidently. For some reason I feel fucking _fearless_ right now, like I could do anything. And I’m pretty sure it’s because of him, even if he’s the one trying to talk me down. “I’ve wanted to get a tattoo since I was fifteen, I just never had the guts until now. I might not know exactly which tattoo I want, but I _have_ thought this through, _so_ many times. So… would you please just come over here and help me figure out what to get before they close?”

After studying my face for another moment, searching for any signs that I’m unsure (and maybe unstable), he gives in and walks over to join me on the couch. He picks up the second of the three binders in front of us and begins to look through it carefully while I go back to flipping through mine. But even though I think most of the tattoos in here are amazing, I’m not seeing anything that I could imagine anywhere on my own body.

“What made you get movie characters tattooed on your arms?” I ask him, looking up from the picture of a lion’s head tattoo that I was admiring.

“I just wanted to.” He shrugs distractedly, his eyes remaining glued to the images in the binder. “I always really loved those movies growing up. They were kind of an escape, I guess.”

“You know, most people like to escape to more comforting places than Elm Street.”

A smirk curls his lips as he glances up at me. “Most people are dull.”

“I just don’t know what to get!” I sigh, my previously high spirits quickly giving way to doubt and frustration. I was afraid this would happen. “There are too many options.”

“Pick something meaningful to you. Forget about everyone else, just focus on what _you_ want.”

I don’t know what I want. Except him. And it’s not like I can get a giant tattoo of his face on my back or his name on my ass or something. I mean, technically I could, but it wouldn’t be much fun explaining it to my wife. Besides which, I’d have to look over my shoulder at myself in a mirror anytime I wanted to see it!

The more pages I turn and the more tattoos I flip past, the less I even see any of them. I’m staring down at the photos, but my mind is wandering, desperately searching for some kind of inspiration that will spark an idea. Until one of the tattoos in the pictures catches my attention enough to pull me out of my daze and back to reality.

Suddenly I know exactly what I want.

“How’s it going back here?” The perky receptionist asks us, coming out of one of the only side rooms that doesn’t have large glass windows for all the world to see inside. “Anything jumping out at you?”

“Um… I’m not sure yet.” I lie as casually as possible, closing the binder and placing it back on the table. “You wouldn’t happen to have a piece of paper and a pen I could use, would you?”

“Oh, sure. Just a sec!” She disappears back out through the door we entered by, and a few seconds later she returns with a small notepad and a black sharpie. “Will this work?”

“Perfect, thanks.”

“Great. I’m gonna go print up your paperwork, and Dan’s just finishing up with another customer but he’ll be right out to talk with you.”

“Awesome.” I smile brightly back at her, watching her walk away once again before setting the notepad on the table and pulling the lid off of the pen.

“What’re you drawing?” Tommy asks me curiously, putting his own binder down and leaning in closer to look over my shoulder. “Is that a bass clef?”

“Supposed to be…” I mumble, pretending that I’m putting a great deal of effort into making it perfect when really I fully intend to screw it up. “Fuck, it looks terrible.”

He doesn’t say “yeah, that’s shit”, but I do see him bite his lip and wrinkle his nose before he can adopt a neutral expression. If I had been trying to get it right, I’d be offended. But since I made it look like crap on purpose, it’s exactly the reaction I wanted.

“Can you try?” I sigh irritably, pushing the pad closer to him and holding out the pen. “ _Please_?”

He hesitates for a moment, but eventually he takes the sharpie out of my hand, draws in a deep breath, and begins trying to sketch me a flawless bass clef. I feel almost bad manipulating him like this, but I know he probably wouldn’t have been willing to do it otherwise. In fact, he’ll probably still argue with me when he realizes what I have in mind, and maybe he’ll even be pissed at me. But I can deal with that as long as I get this picture from him.

After a couple of failed attempts, he finally hands me the notebook back, and a smile spreads across my face as I look at the small, black musical symbol on the plain, white paper. I haven’t even had time to thank him before a man emerges from the side room that the receptionist went into earlier, and after saying his goodbyes to the customer who follows him out into the waiting are, he turns to us.

“Taylor?”

“That’d be me.” I stand up from the couch and accept the hand that he holds out for me to shake.

“I’m Dan Dark, nice to meet you. Callie tells me you’re looking to get a tattoo?”

“I am.”

“Did you have a design picked out yet?”

“As of two seconds ago.” I chuckle, handing him the notepad with Tommy’s drawing. “I want that.”

“Easy. Where were you thinking of getting it?”

I roll up the sleeve of my jacket just enough to expose the inside of my right wrist before holding it up for him to see. “Right here.”

“No problem.”

“And I want that picture _exactly_. You can do that, right?”

“Yeah, definitely. I can scan this in and print up an exact transfer.”

“Awesome!”

“Wait.” Tommy suddenly interrupts from the couch, and I hear him get to his feet to approach us. “He didn’t meant that he wants _exactly_ that picture.”

“No, _exactly_ is _exactly_ what I meant.”

“But it’s crap!” He protests, his voice more high-pitched than usual and almost a little panicked sounding.

“Well, _I_ like it! And didn’t you just say I should do what I want and not care what anyone else says?”

“Fucking hell, Taylor!”

“You know, I’m sure we have this on our computer.” Dan informs us, clearly amused by the petty little quarrel we’re having right in front of him. “I can print it up for you if you want?”

“Great!” Tommy exclaims in relief. “Print it up!”

“No, that’s okay. I want this one.”

“Alright, well, I’m gonna go get a room set up and I’ll call you in when I’m ready. Why don’t you go out front and give Callie your contact info and get settled up so we can get started?”

“Thanks.”

Dan walks over to one of the large-windowed rooms while I turn to head back into the main waiting area and fill out whatever paperwork Callie has for me to sign and date. But I’ve barely taken a step before Tommy’s grabbing me by the arm and turning me around to face him. And I was right: he looks _pissed_.

“What the actual _fuck_ is wrong with you?!”

“Nothing.” I shrug unconcernedly.

“You can’t get that picture _tattooed_ onto your arm. This is _permanent_ , okay? Just let the guy print up their version of it for fucks sake!”

“I know it’s permanent. That’s why I want _your_ version of it, not theirs.”

Apparently he hadn’t fully realized why I wanted a bass clef in the first place and why I was so insistent on using his drawing of one until now. But as what I’ve just said begins to sink in, his expression slowly begins to soften. “Taylor-”

“Look, I know what I’m doing, and I want to do this.”

He holds my gaze unwaveringly, but when I don’t so much as blink, he sighs reluctantly. “Are you _sure_?”

With a reassuring smile, I offer him a single, emphatic nod. “I’m two-hundred-and-ten percent sure.”

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were fucking high right now.”

My only response is to grin at him before chancing a quick look over at Dan to make sure he’s too preoccupied with whatever it is he’s doing to notice us. And then I lean in and capture Tommy’s lips with my own, feeling the electricity spark between us instantly. My body is buzzing with energy, with the exhilaration of not only getting this tattoo but more so from kissing him this way outside of the privacy of a hotel room or his apartment. And I can feel the same excitement radiating from him, too. It’s intoxicating.

I might not be under the influences of any drugs, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I’m not high.

 

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

  


 

 

I wanna look at it.

Dan told me to keep the dressing on for at least a couple of hours, but I’m already starting to forget how cool it looks and we only left the tattoo parlor ten minutes ago! I just want to peek; one little look isn’t gonna make my arm turn septic and fall off.

But as soon as I reach for the edge of the dressing, Tommy harshly slaps my hand away. “Don’t.”

“But-”

“You’re not taking that bandage off until three am. If I see you even eyeing it like you’re _thinking_ about touching it, I’m gonna smack the shit out of you.”

“I just wanna look for a second!”

“You can look all you want when we take the dressing off at three, but until then you’re gonna follow the _expert_ advice you were given and leave it the fuck alone.” He tells me seriously as the valet parking attendant at the diner pulls the rental car up beside us and hands me the keys. “Don’t pout at me like that.”

“It’s my tattoo and I’ll pout if I want to.” I mutter childishly, doing my best not to look at him because I know the second I do I’m going to start smiling.

“You’ll thank me when you’re infection free.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

He rolls his eyes at me as he gets into the car, but he’s smiling so I’m pretty sure that he knows that I’m being this petulant on purpose. I rarely ever behave this way for real unless my brothers are involved. We tend to bring out the worst in each other sometimes, and they’re the only people in my life who cause me to revert to my ten year old self during arguments (and vice versa). I guess that’s just one of the _many_ hazards of working with the people you grew up with, especially if they’re your siblings. It can get seriously embarrassing at times; our collective immaturity seemingly knows _no_ limits.

“Gimme your iPhone.” I demand in a no-nonsense tone, holding my hand out to him expectantly.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to listen to the crap on the radio again.”

“So use yours.”

“We _always_ use mine.” I whine dramatically, making out like it’s a daily occurrence when really we’ve only done it twice. But somehow it feels as though we have this argument all the time. Everything with him always feels _so_ familiar and natural. “Just hand it over.”

“No.” He replies defiantly.

I can’t tell whether he’s doing this to challenge me or because he’s hiding something from me. I know that’s a stupid conclusion to jump to, but I remember the first time we had this conversation and how he teased me about having something embarrassing on my iPod that I didn’t want him to know about. Now I’m starting to wonder if he’s the one with a guilty pleasure he’s trying to keep secret. Maybe he accused me of having something terrible on my iPod to distract me from the fact that _he_ does. I’m never going to be able to stop wondering until I know for sure…

So I lean over and stuff my hand into his pocket (or try to).

He yelps in surprise before attempting to squirm as far away from me as possible, and he giggles and swats at my hands and my arms and eventually even my head. It takes me at least a full minute of pinning him against the passenger side door and digging around in his pockets (which probably looks really bad to anyone watching), but finally I manage to find his iPhone. He doesn’t stop telling me to give it back and calling me names I’d rather not repeat, but nothing he says can deter me from unlocking his phone and tapping on the iPod icon.

After only a couple of seconds of scrolling through the list of artists, I find what it is I’m pretty sure he’s been trying to prevent me from ever seeing. And when I do, I look up at him in open mouthed shock.

“Oh my _God_ …”

“Fuck you.” He mutters, grudgingly accepting defeat as he folds his arms across his chest defensively and slumps in his seat.

“I can’t believe it!”

“Whatever.”

“ _I’m_ your guilty pleasure?”

“This is news?” He throws back mockingly, unable to keep a hint of a smile off of his lips as he does so. “It’s no big deal, okay? I just downloaded a couple of songs, that’s all.”

“So then why are you all _red_?” I continue to tease him mercilessly, reaching out my right hand to poke him in the cheek and earning another smack in return. “I’m seriously shocked that you have _any_ of our music on your iPod. We’re _so_ not your style.”

“Shows how much you know, ‘cause I don’t _have_ a style. I like all kinds of stuff.”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s not the sharpest comeback ever, but right now I’m too preoccupied by looking at which of our songs he has on here to put much effort into keeping up our oh-so witty banter. I’m actually not too surprised by most of his choices. A lot of them are our slower, more melancholy songs, like _Underneath_ and _A Song to Sing_ , or the much more guitar driven rock songs like _Blue Sky_. But there are one or two that I would never have expected him to have, like _Dancing in the Wind_ and _Voice in the Chorus._ I don’t realize it at first, but it slowly starts to occur to me that every song of ours on his iPod features me on lead vocals. And fair enough, I sing lead vocals on the majority of the songs on _all_ of our albums, but still… I think I should be allowed to gloat a little, right?

Only I get distracted by something else on his iPod and forget to revel entirely.

“You have our cover of _Furry Walls_?!” I crack up, staring at him in disbelief.

“Fuck yeah!” He counters seriously, taking his iPhone and plugging it into the FM transmitter so that he can play the song. “Any song that involves you singing ‘sit on my face’ is genius, in my opinion.”

“Still, I can’t believe you paid money for this.”

“I didn’t.”

“So then where’d you get it? The only place we put it other than iTunes was our website.” And now he’s blushing again. “You were on our _website_?”

“Shut up! I went on it for like two seconds the day after we met, just out of curiosity. And this song was like… one of the first posts on there.”

Wow.

I didn’t even think about the timing of our first meeting at all. We recorded this cover as a joke less than a week before he and I met in that bar. Ike, Zac and I were in New York for a few days and we had some down time, so we decided to watch ‘ _Get Him to the Greek_ ’. After too many beers and too much time spent looking up Infant Sorrow songs on youtube, we found ourselves in the studio until four o’clock in the morning recording our own version of one of the songs. We had _so_ much fun that night, it was insane. It’s things like that which have kept us together as a band for the last two decades, through all of the drama and the fighting, the depression and the exhaustion. In moments like those we can look at each other and _know_ why we’re still doing what we do.

But we haven’t had too many of those moments in the last six months. In fact, I can’t remember having _any_ real fun with Zac since that night.

Four days later, I kissed Tommy.

“You okay?” He asks, turning the volume of the stereo down. “You kinda spaced out for a minute.”

“Yeah, I’m good. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

There’s a gentle frown on his face, and his eyes are full of concern. I want to tell him what’s on my mind, I really do… I just don’t know how to explain it. Not by telling the whole truth, at least.

“The night we recorded this song. It was one of those crazy, spontaneous things that makes absolutely no sense but you _have_ to do it anyway.”

“Kinda like tonight?” He smiles playfully, nodding towards my bandage-covered wrist.

“I guess…”

I hope not.

 _God_ , I hope not.

The idea that someday, not too long from now, I’ll find myself sitting somewhere, looking at this tattoo and wondering what happened to the feelings of contentment and freedom I had when I got it _terrifies_ me. I don’t even want to think about it.

“Anyway… I was just thinking that it was the last time I can really remember us all having that much fun together. Things have been kind of shitty the last few months.”

“Sorry.”

I shrug as though it’s no big deal, but I think we both know it’s nothing I could ever simply shrug off. “It’ll work itself out. Always does.”

“Is it my fault?”

“ _No_.”

He chuckles quietly, knowingly. “Okay, but is the reason that things have been shitty in _any_ way related to what’s been going on between us?”

Fuck. I don’t want to lie to him, but I don’t want him blaming himself at all, either. “It’s…” It’s completely related to what’s been going on between us. My older brother is worried that everyone is going to find out and it’s going to ruin our lives, and my younger brother is pissed that he lost me to someone else. Or just that he ‘lost’ in general, I guess, because Zac _hates_ to lose. “It’s a little bit to do with us, but it’s _so_ not your fault.”

“Okay.”

“That didn’t sound convincing.”

“Well neither did that bullshit about it being ‘a little bit’ about us.” He replies honestly, casting me a pointed look that I try to pretend not to see as I (for once) focus my attention on the road ahead instead of his face. “I don’t want to make life difficult for you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do. I _am_.”

“The only thing you do to my life is make it better.” I insist sincerely, knowing there’s nothing he can say to deny it because it’s the absolute truth.

“Don’t say stuff like that.” He sighs, his head falling gently against the seat as he stares out of the window.

Not exactly the response I was hoping for. “Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason.” The only reply I receive is a vague shrug. “Why can’t I say it if it’s the truth?” This time I don’t even get a shrug. “Would you prefer it if I lied to you?”

“Yes.”

Well fine! If he wants me to lie, I can lie my fucking _ass_ off. Lord knows I’ve got a lifetime of practice under my belt. And you know what they say about practice. “I hate you. I can’t stand being around you. I wish I’d never met you. You’re absolutely the _worst_ thing that’s ever happened to me, and I hope I never have to see you again for the rest of my life.”

For a while he remains completely silent, and I stupidly start to believe that I’ve successfully managed to make a point of some kind. But no. “You suck at lying.”

“So then let me tell the truth!”

“No.”

“ _Why_?! Why is it okay for you to say that I’m beautiful, but it’s not okay for me to tell you that you make my life better?”

“Because.”

“We already established that ‘because’ is _not_ a reason.” Another shrug. “This is totally unfair!”

“Yeah, well, life’s unfair.”

Touché.

I hate to let him win, but I can’t think of anything else to say. It’s not like I can really argue with him; life _is_ unfair. It’s fucked up, and it’s unfair. And I’m an ungrateful asshole, because it’s not like I had a shitty childhood and none of my dreams ever came true. In the grand scheme of things, I am _so_ lucky.

But it’s _still_ unfair.

“Look…” He sighs deeply, leaving me nervous about just how horrible I’m going to feel after whatever it is he’s about to say. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but even though we’re like… back together, or whatever… I still feel the way I did the other day. I know I need to just accept it and get over it, but it’s easier said than done. And when you say things like that… it just makes me feel…”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” He hedges awkwardly, staring down at his black jeans to avoid looking me in the eyes. “Important, I guess.”

“And you think you’re not?” I frown, wondering _how_ he can possibly think that he’s not important to me.

“Not… enough.” He confesses in a mumble. “Not enough to change anything.” I want to dispute that statement, but I don’t even know how. And I don’t get a chance to, either. “And that’s fine. There’s not even anything _to_ change. It is what it is, and I knew that the first time I kissed you, and I knew it tonight when I chose to be in this again. So… I just need to deal.”

Words cannot express how much I _hate_ the resigned tone of his voice. But really, how else is he supposed to sound. It’s not like there’s much to be hopeful or happy about when it comes to this situation we’re in. The only way for us to enjoy whatever this thing is that we have it to ignore reality entirely. And apparently it’s impossible for him to ignore it when I tell him how much I care about him or try to show him in any way. So I guess the least I can do is keep my damn mouth shut from now on.

If only that was something I was even slightly good at.

It feels wrong to just leave the conversation on such a depressing note, but it seems as though anything I say to him will feel just as wrong. I either have to agree with him or lie, neither of which I want to do and neither of which will make things any better. So I stay silent for once.

The atmosphere in the car for the rest of the journey isn’t awkward at all, it’s just somber. I really want to drive out into the middle of nowhere right now and scream at the top of my lungs, I’m _that_ frustrated by the hopelessness of it all. But screaming won’t fix it, it’ll only make me feel better for that one fleeting moment. And why should I get to feel better? If it would make _him_ feel better, I’d do it. In fact, I’d do pretty much anything. But I don’t think there’s anything either of us can do, and knowing that is the most depressing fact I’ve ever been faced with.

We make it back to his apartment to find his roommate passed out on the couch in the dark, lit only by the cheerful glow of an informercial for some junk piece of work out gear. It’s actually so ridiculous that Tommy and I both pause on our way over to his bedroom to stare in awe at how completely ludicrous it is. Did you know that you can tone your arms in just six minutes a day by holding some cheap looking weight that shakes itself like an ineffective sex toy? And all for less than twenty bucks!

“Is it just me, or does that thing totally look like it’s aimed at strengthening hand job muscles?” Tommy asks curiously.

A smile instantly curls my lips, not just because of what he said, but simply because he spoke to me at all. After the silence of the car ride home, it’s _so_ good to hear him talk. It’s even better to hear him crack a joke.

“It’s _not_ just you.”

“Thank God.”

We spend another couple of minutes watching the scarily smiley women on the TV screen stand around and do absolutely nothing (because obviously this ‘Shake Weight’ thing is gonna sell itself!), and then Tommy shakes his head in weary astonishment and continues across the living room to his bedroom door. As soon as we’re inside, he starts removing his clothes. And while I would find the sight of him getting naked to be an incredible turn on under any other circumstances, watching him stumble towards the bed while uncoordinatedly pulling his shirt over his head is nothing but amusing right now. He’s clearly on the verge of passing out, and I don’t expect him to stay awake for any longer than it takes him to climb onto the mattress, even though he insists that he’s going to hold out for another hour until I’ve removed the dressing and cleaned my tattoo the way the after-care instructions say to.

Two minutes later, he’s completely out.

Before carefully getting onto the bed beside him, I set the alarm on my iPhone to go off in an hour, just in case I crash, too. It ends up being unnecessary, though, because I spend the next sixty minutes wide awake, staring at his peaceful face and replaying the entire day over in my mind. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about it all. When I woke up this morning (or yesterday morning, I guess), I was miserable and I missed him, and now I’m lying here on his bed with him. I got what I wanted, and yet I still can’t help wondering if it would have been better if I hadn’t. No matter how I try to work it all out in my head, no matter how many different scenarios I come up with, I don’t see how we can make this last.

Don’t get me wrong, I can _vividly_ picture myself with him. I can see myself living in Los Angeles, I can imagine us sharing an apartment, I can _feel_ how fulfilling it would be to live every day of the rest of my life with him if he’d let me. But we’re not the only people I have to consider. And when I factor in my children, and my wife, and my brothers, and my parents, and my siblings, and even my fans… each one is like a brick being placed between us, until there’s an insurmountable wall that I can’t get around or climb over.

I can’t be with him.

By the time the alarm on my phone goes off, I’m so depressed by the thoughts swimming around in my head that my eagerness to see my tattoo is all but gone. In fact, I think I’m actually _afraid_ to see it now. When I got it, it symbolized liberation to me. It was music, and it was him, and it was every good thing I was feeling in that moment. But since I just came to the conclusion that every good thing I was feeling in that moment can’t last… doesn’t that simply make this tattoo a permanent reminder of what I want more than anything and can never have?


	30. Chapter 30

  


 

 

I eventually psyched myself up enough to get off of the bed and go into the bathroom to clean off my tattoo, and thankfully the experience wasn’t as bad as I’d let myself believe it would be. Instead of looking at the tattoo and feeling regret and self-pity, I found myself smiling. Just a little. It looked just as good as I remembered it looking, and seeing it reminded me of the excitement I felt as I watched Dan outline the design onto my skin. It reminded me of the smile on Tommy’s face when I looked up at him after it was done;  I could still hear him telling me how  good he thought it looked. He had this gleam in his eyes that practically screamed ‘I wanna fuck you so bad right now’. I swear I almost paid Dan to vacate the room so that we could do it right then and there in the tattoo chair (or at least attempt to, because I’m not entirely sure how that would’ve worked…).

Tommy was still asleep when I snuck back past his loudly snoring roommate and into his bedroom, and even though I really, _really_ wanted to wake him up and belatedly take him up on that look he’d given me earlier, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He looked so peaceful and cozy, and suddenly the only thing I wanted to do was take my clothes of and crawl under the comforter with him. And as soon as I did so and carefully snaked an arm around his waist, he rolled towards me in his sleep and practically pressed his face into my bare chest. It didn’t look all that comfortable, in fact I was worried he couldn’t even breathe, but he seemed happy where he was so I saw no reason to let him go.

But I wake up again the next morning to find that he’s gone.

Well, he's not _gone_ gone, he's just not snuggled up to me anymore. I guess we must have moved during the night, because somehow we wound up back to back on the bed. And I disapprove! He barely stirs when I roll onto my side and wrap an arm around him once again, pulling his back flush against my front and pressing my lips to the warm skin of his shoulder.

“Tommy…”

Nothing.

I place another lingering kiss to his shoulder, then another to the nape of his neck. “Tommy, wake up.” This time I get a grunt, and my mouth curls into a smirk as I kiss him again. “Wake _uh-up_.”

Apparently my sing-song tone wasn’t as amusing to him as it was to me, because the second grunt I receive sounds even crankier than the first. So I decide to try a different tactic, one that I’m hoping will help to start his morning off right. His body tenses against mine as my fingertips walk their way down his bare abdomen, skipping over his belly button and making a show of taking a detour to his hip bone. But aside from a soft sigh and a small amount of squirming, he still refuses to roll over.

“Come on, it’s…”

When I lift my arm up so that I can glance at my watch, I’m expecting to see that it’s eight am, maybe nine at the latest. So when I see that it’s already after noon, my heart sinks and the smile disappears from my face. I thought we’d have longer together than this.

“It’s noon.” I sigh sadly, letting my arm fall heavily back onto he pillows above his head as I bury my face in the crook of his neck. “I have to be at the airport by four.”

Which means I have to be at the hotel to get my bags by three o’clock, unless I want to hit ridiculous traffic all the way to LAX.

Which means I only have a few hours left with him.

Without a word, he rolls over in my arms. Either he wasn’t as sleepy as I thought or he’s incredibly adept at waking up quickly, because the look of single-minded determination that he’s giving me right now shows no sign that he’s just woken up. He places his palms against my chest and pushes me onto my back easily, pressing his mouth to mine in a demanding kiss that leaves me almost too stunned and breathless to return it. He straddles my hips, his body writhing rhythmically against mine as he gasps against my lips and groans into my mouth. He’s clearly in no mood for soft and slow, and apparently there’s no time for teasing, either.

He knows what he wants and he’s going to make damn sure he gets it.

I’ve barely had a chance to catch up to the frantic pace he’s set before his lips suddenly part from mine, leaving my mouth mid-kiss. I already miss the taste of him. My mind is spinning as I gaze down at him, watching him skim his way down my body, making a beeline for the now very obvious erection that was barely there thirty seconds ago. Again he wastes no time, saving his normal flirtatious glances and playful posturing, and my eyes instinctively clamp shut as my body arches from the mattress at the sensation of his lips surrounding me.

Despite the fact that I was the one trying to coax him back to consciousness so that we could engage in some morning (or afternoon, I guess) sex, I’m still completely taken aback by how forceful he’s being and how fast he’s moving. I feel as though I can’t even see straight, and if he doesn’t stop or slow down soon I’m pretty sure this is going to be over before it even begins!

“S-stop.” I tug on his hair weakly, but he seems to take it as a challenge and it only makes him more resolute. “ _Fuck_! Tommy, seriously… if you don’t stop right now I-I’m gonna cum.”

I was half expecting him to keep going, but instead he seductively slides his lips up the length of my erection one last time and then releases me. And, of course, I’m immediately disappointed and can’t for the life of me remember _why_ I told him to stop. That is, until he grabs the lube off of the night stand. His mouth descends on mine hungrily again as he thrusts the bottle into the palm of my hand. I have plenty of practice at this, none of it should be challenging at all, but I feel so fucking dazed right now that I’m barely aware of what I’m doing! I feel the sensation of the lube on my fingers, and I try to split my dizzy focus between returning his eager kisses and navigating my hand between our bodies. But my fingers haven’t even had chance to get where they’re going before I feel him grab a hold of my wrist and guide my hand to _his_ body instead of my own.

“Are you sure?” I ask him in the brief moment that I can find between his kisses.

He smirks down at me, still holding my hand right where he wants it. “Didn’t we have this conversation last night?”

“Yeah, but-”

“The answer’s still the same.” He begins, nipping at my bottom lip with his teeth, and when he pushes back against my finger and I feel it slip inside him slowly, we both moan. His forehead falls against my shoulder for a moment before he huskily pants against my ear. “I want you to fuck me.”

For a while he stays pressed against me, allowing my lips to caress the skin of his neck and shoulder as my finger carefully thrusts into him over and over, drawing sounds from him that aren’t even words but still somehow translate to unmistakable pleas for more. And eventually I gladly submit to those pleas, watching in awe as he slowly lowers his body onto mine. My eyes are glued to his expression, to every crease in his brow, every indentation his teeth leave in his bottom lip, the way his lashes lay against his cheek and his hair drifts away from his face as his head falls back.

He’s so fucking beautiful.

I wonder if he knows how much power he has over me?

He _has_ to know.

How can he be moving above me like this, gazing down at my open-mouthed, mesmerized expression, and _not_ know? I’m sure it’s blatantly obvious, he can probably see it in my eyes as he holds my stare, he can tell that I’m completely at his mercy. And yet he’s still making those soft sounds, the ones that make it seem as though _he’s_ begging _me_. Like I’m the one in control here, as if he couldn’t simply take anything he wanted from me right now. I’d give him anything he asked for, _anything_.

Our lips meet in an uncoordinated kiss that still feels entirely perfect, and I push deeper into him as he meets each thrust of my hips effortlessly. His hair brushes lightly against the skin of my cheek, and though I reach up to gently run my fingers through it, I end up possessively tangling them in it instead, pulling him back into another heated embrace. Our bodies begin moving more erratically as he slips his hand between us and wraps it around his erection, and I feel him panting and moaning more and more desperately through our kisses.

God, he’s _so_ close, and I’m so close…

The knock on his bedroom door startles us both, and he instantly freezes above me as he glances over his shoulder in the direction the noise came from. “Fuck off!”

“Tommy?”

“Fuck. _Off_.” He shouts back again, returning his attention to me and shaking his head in disapproval and annoyance as he leans down to kiss me. “Where were we?”

“Dude, I just wanted to-” There’s no time for us to pull the sheets over ourselves or even for Tommy to get off of me before Dave waltzes into the room and sees us. He takes one look at our naked bodies and his jaw almost hits the ground like something out of a cartoon. “Holy fucking _shit_!”

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Dave!” Tommy grabs the nearest throwable object, which just so happens to be the bottle of lube sitting on the sheets beside us, and whips it at his shell-shocked friend. “Get the _fuck_ out!”

Dave immediately covers his eyes in disgust and turns to leave. “Learn to lock the fucking door, damnit! Or at least hang a sock!”

“Google the term ‘fuck off’, asshole!”

“Fuck you! And you owe me twenty bucks for this, jerk off!”

The walls practically shake as the door slams shut, and I feel as though I’ve been holding my breath throughout their entire exchange. I’m pretty sure that the mood has been ruined at this point, and I have _no_ idea what’s going on in Tommy’s head right now. I’m guessing that he’s probably pissed off and in a slight state of shock, and maybe even a little scared.

Which is why it surprises me to hear him _laughing_.

At first I’m sure I must be imagining things, but when I see the smile on his face I know that I’m not. His body slumps limply against mine as his shoulders continue to shake and the sound of his breathless laughter fills the room around us, until eventually I find myself laughing along with him. I’m not sure what’s so funny, it’s just one of those moments where you can’t help _but_ laugh. It’s so ridiculous.

“His face!” He finally gets out between giggles, lifting his head to look at me. “Did you _see_ his face?”

I nod, replaying the scene in my mind and cracking up all over again. “I thought he was gonna pass out.”

“I think we scarred him for life.”

“Why did he say you owe him twenty bucks for this? Therapy costs _way_ more than that.”

With a roll of his eyes, he waves the question off like it’s nothing but answers it nonetheless. “He bet me twenty bucks that if I went on tour with Adam, I’d come back with a dick in my ass.”

That little admission sends us both reeling again, and I can’t help thinking how perfect this moment feels. I mean, yes, in an ideal world some strange guy wouldn’t have just walked in and saw us having sex, but I honestly don’t even care right now. He’s here, and we’re laughing, and he smells like Corona and sweat and sleep, and he’s so warm, and his body is pressed _so_ close to mine.

In fact, I never actually pulled out of him.

My hips thrust upwards automatically at the realization, and his laughter is cut abruptly short by a gasp and a low moan. A grin curls my lips, and I wrap my arms securely around him and hold him tightly against me as I roll him onto his back.  His eyes are so dark with desire right now, it makes me shudder as I lower my mouth to his. “Where were we?”

We make love twice over the course of the next two hours. I know it sounds lame and totally rom-com to refer to it as ‘making love’, but that’s honestly the best term to describe how it felt. It wasn’t merely sex, and it certainly wasn’t fucking. It started out that way, but after Dave’s interruption everything seemed to switch. Everything slowed down. The urgency evaporated and was replaced by something else, something more.

And as much as I’m trying to ignore it, there’s a definite sadness lingering between us. I think we’re both painfully aware that we are counting down the minutes of the last couple of hours we’ll get to spend together for who knows how long. I know for a fact that this is the last time I’ll get to see him until the new year, and once my calendar for 2011 starts filling up, we’re going to have to fight to find a spare few days here and there to spend together. Isaac and Zac have already been talking about a European tour next year, and I know we need to focus on getting the album released in other countries and promoting it wherever we can…

But if doing promo work overseas means that I’m less likely to get to see Tommy for the next six months, I’d rather give up on the idea of ever having international success again and just stick to touring the USA. Being successful domestically is nothing to sniff at, most bands don’t even make it that far.

I can’t believe I’m even thinking that way. It’s the first time I’ve _ever_ put my feelings for another person before my music and my career, I haven't ever really done it for my own kids (as terrible as that is). I’ll admit that it’s more than a little terrifying. Music has always come first for me, _always_. The only thing I love anywhere near as much as music is my children, nothing else has ever been able to compete. And I’ve always felt a certain sense of security when it came to those aspects of my life; they were mine and nothing could take them from me.

But that’s not true anymore; he could take them.

At least, he could inadvertently. If the wrong person finds out about us, I could lose my kids _and_ my career. And part of me doesn’t care. I think part of me even _wants_ it.

The one thing I know I _don’t_ want right now is to say goodbye. I know it makes me an asshole, but I kind of just want to sneak out before he wakes up again. I don’t know what to say to him, I don’t want to see the look in his eyes. I _hate_ doing this to him, it’s completely unfair, I should’ve known better than to drag him into my fucked up life in the first place. I guess I just never expected things to go this far. I never expected that either of us would feel this much.

And now it’s too late to turn back.

“What time is it?”

His groggy voice makes me jump a little in surprise as I finish tying the laces on my shoes, and I offer him an apologetic half-smile as I sit up and turn to face him. “Almost three.”

“Shit.” My thoughts exactly. “I guess you have to leave soon, huh?”

I should have left ten minutes ago, and every minute I stay brings me one minute closer to missing my flight. “Yeah, I probably should…”

He wants to ask me when he’s going to see me again, I can tell. But I can also tell that he’s not going to. He knows that I can’t give him an answer that will make either of us feel any better right now. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Coming out here. You didn’t have to, and I know you like _just_ got back from tour, and your family was probably pissed that you took off again so soon... it meant a lot that you came.”

“Anytime.”

The sad smile on his face strikes me as doubtful. I wish I could convince him that I really would drop everything and fly out here anytime he needed me to, but I know that there’s nothing I can say that’s going to convince him of that. Maybe it’s just something I’ll have to prove to him in time.

Kissing him goodbye is bittersweet. There’s never a time when I _don’t_ want to kiss him, but it honestly hurts to do it when I know it’s the last time for a long time.

“Text me when you land?” He asks somewhat hopefully, holding onto my arm gently to keep me from pulling away completely. “Just... so I know your flight got in okay and everything.”

“Sure.”

This is the part where I’m supposed to take a step back, offer him a pathetic attempt at a smile, turn and walk away. I’ve got the pathetic smile thing down, but I’m a complete and utter failure when it comes to the rest of it. For a second I wonder if this will get easier someday, but given that every goodbye we’ve shared since the night we first met has been more difficult than the one before it, I highly doubt this process is ever going to magically become less miserable for either of us.

Who knows, maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe if it _does_ somehow get less painful somewhere along the line, it’s a sign that this thing we have isn’t even worth the time and heartache anymore.

Despite the fact that I still feel a strong urge to tell him that I love him, I’ve definitely learned my lesson when it comes to that ‘little’ confession. He knows how I feel, whether I say it or not, and I know that hearing it again isn’t going to make this goodbye hurt any less for him. So, for once in my life, I keep my mouth shut.

The flight back to Tulsa is long and cramped, and I spend a decent portion of it wondering why I got on the damn plane at all. Reasonably I know that I had no other option; I have a wife and four kids to get home to. But even though I know I’m doing the ‘right’ thing, it still feels completely wrong. And yes, that makes me a total douche bag. Everyone in this situation (myself excluded) deserves better. Maybe I’m even capable of giving them all what they deserve and I’m just too damn selfish to do it. I should devote more of myself to Nat and the kids, I _could_ devote more of myself, even if it feels like I have nothing left of me to give them. Tommy is proof that there’s more, every second of my time and attention that I spend on him could be spent on my family instead. But I _choose_ not to give them that piece of myself. And because of that choice, no one gets what they really need (myself included).

I’m glad that I chose to leave my car parked at the airport instead of taking a cab or having one of my siblings drive me. It means that I get that extra thirty minutes alone before returning to my real life for the most family-time intensive month of the year. For this brief fragment of my day, it’s just me and my iPod driving through the darkness. I can pretend I’m going anywhere I want, even as I take familiar turn after familiar turn until I’m pulling into the driveway of a house that has never truly felt like home.

It’s strange to think that I was just here a few days ago; it seems more like I’ve been gone for weeks. Everything feels different even though nothing has _really_ changed. But something has definitely shifted, that much I’m sure of. It feels like the beginning of one of those end-of-the-world movies, where everyone is happily going about their day when suddenly something happens and for the next hour and a half they’re all running for their lives, fighting to survive. A meteor hits, or an ice shelf splits, or Los Angeles spontaneously combusts. I feel like I should start running…

I just don’t know where the safest place is to run _to_.

Within seconds (literally) of me opening the front door, Nat appears at the top of the stairs. She’s grinning at me excitedly, _beaming_. She looks beautiful. And not just because her hair is brushed to perfection, her makeup looks like it was applied by a pro, and she’s wearing a dress that suggests she’s about to go out on the town for a romantic evening of dinner and dancing.

Wait…

Does that mean _I’m_ going out on the town for a romantic evening of dinner and dancing? I know I owe her that much, but it kind of screws with my plans to collapse fully clothed onto my bed and stay there for the rest of December.

“You’re home!” She chirps brightly, all but skipping her way down the stairs and flinging herself into my arms for a hug. “How was your trip?”

“It was…” What’s the most honest and yet non-incriminating way to answer that question? “Exhausting.”

With a soft coo of sympathy she pulls back a little to look me in the eyes, and it takes all the self-control I can muster not to look away guiltily. “I’m sorry. Was your friend feeling that bad?”

I shrug, because it’s better than lying right to her face. “It was just a long trip, that’s all.”

“Well, you’re home now.” She smiles once again, pecking me on the lips. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” The words roll off of my tongue so easily, I can’t even tell if they’re sincere. But at least I can take comfort in knowing that the next three are. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” A blush colors her cheeks as she glances down at her dress before meeting my eyes again. “I wanted to surprise you. I made dinner, it’s keeping warm in the oven.”

Next thing I know, she’s taken me by the hand and is pulling me towards the dining room. And for some stupid reason I feel the urge to pull away. “Uh… I’m just gonna go look in on the kids quick and then I’ll be right down.”

“No need.” She assures me, squeezing my hand a little tighter when my grip on her fingers loosens. “They’re at your parent’s for the night.”

“Oh.”

Oh boy.

“And Isaac and Nikki agreed to watch them when we go to New York in a couple of weeks.”

Yeah, I bet. I’m sure Ike jumped at the chance to help facilitate this trip for us. He’s probably hoping that one weekend alone with my wife will ‘cure’ me. You gotta love his overly simplistic view of love and relationships. Boy meets girl, boy knocks up girl, boy marries girl, boy starts fooling around with bass player, boy goes on romantic weekend getaway with girl, boy forgets all about bass player and doesn’t ruin his big brother’s life by divorcing girl and shacking up with bass player. All is right with the world.

“So… what’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

“Good, ‘cause I made your favorite.” Nat grins at me as we come to a stop by the dining room table, and she gives me a playful push into my chair. “And I picked up a bottle of that red that you really liked, too.”

“Great.”

Just as I’m starting to relax and look forward to enjoying some good food and good wine with my loving wife, my loving wife plants herself in my lap and presses her painted lips to mine in a sweet and yet somehow sensual kiss. And when she slowly pulls back and rests her forehead against mine, she no longer has the same joyful sparkle in her eyes that she did only moments ago. It’s been replaced by something else, something that leaves my breath lodged in my throat and my body cold.

“By the way,” She begins in a gentle, hushed tone, almost a whisper. So why does is feel so threatening? “I’m still ovulating...”


	31. Chapter 31

  


 

 

Junia Rosa Ruth Hanson was born on December 15th, 2010.

Her arrival has made my life more difficult in some ways and less so in others. On the one hand having an adorable newborn around has only served to make my already broody wife even more obsessed with getting pregnant as soon as humanly possible. But on the other hand Zac is so elated to be a father again, especially to a baby girl, that he seems to have temporarily forgotten that he’s supposed to be pissed off at me.

He’s completely smitten with her (a feeling I can relate to, being father to a beautiful little girl myself), and so focused on making sure Kate has everything she could possibly need or want. It makes me realize, and not for the first time ever, just how much he truly loves his wife. And not in the almost entirely platonic way that I love Nat. He is infatuated, he has been since he was a teenager. Even Isaac, who is definitely the more overtly romantic of the three of us, has never written songs about a girl that are as sickeningly lovey-dovey as the ones Zac has written about Kate. I started dating Nat because I was trying to do what I thought was expected of me, trying to keep up appearances, trying to force myself to be ‘normal’. She was beautiful, and sweet, and we seemed to hit it off, so I thought "maybe...". Maybe I could be straight, as stupid as that sounds. And at first I’d assumed that Zac had latched onto Nat’s best friend because she was convenient and it meant we could spend more time together via double dates.

But it became more and more obvious over the years that it wasn’t the case. Or, if it was initially, it’s not anymore.

It used to make me jealous, I’ll admit. I went around feeling as though I spent most of my time pretending to be someone I wasn’t, living for those moments where I could be with him and be someone else, someone who almost resembled the person I really was. Whereas he was happy whether he was with me or with her. That jealousy transformed into guilt as we got older, though. Partly because I felt bad for hoping that he felt the same way I did when we were apart, because in reality I wouldn’t have wished that on anyone, especially not someone I loved. But mostly because I wondered if he ever would have cheated on her if it weren’t for me.

I hadn’t ‘pursued’ him, exactly, our attraction to one another had been there for as long as I could remember. And neither of us had really pushed the other into acting on it, it had just… happened. We'd gone from closer-than-close brothers to curious teenagers shut away in hotel rooms together on tour night after night. We'd found ourselves in this little bubble, with few people we could trust or relate to besides one another because of our sudden rise to success. One thing led to another, and before I knew what had really happened, we were in love.

But regardless of how mutual our feelings had been and how naturally things had developed between us, I couldn’t help but blame myself for our relationship. I was older, I should have known better, even if I had still been a kid when it had started. I'd know from the first kiss that it was 'wrong'. But knowing that hadn't changed how right it had _felt_ to be loved, to be wanted... to no longer be alone. The older we got, though, the harder it was for me to ignore the opinions of the rest of the world. Even though no one knew about us, I knew what they would think if they ever found out. I had plenty of opportunities over the years to end it, I _had_ ended it, but I’d _always_ given into his pleading and gone back to him eventually. I'd been weak. If I’d been stronger, if I’d had more self-control, maybe he could have moved on with his life and been happily married and faithful. He probably never would have cheated on Kate _and_ me with Carrick if nothing had ever happened between us. He’d only done it because we were fighting and he’d wanted to hurt me. He’d never been with another guy before and hasn’t been since. Not to my knowledge, at least.

I felt as though I’d dragged him down with me, turned him into an adulterer because I couldn’t stand the loneliness of my own life.

To be honest, sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the exact same thing to Tommy.

I’ve hinted at it several times during our _many_ lengthy phone conversations, but he always brushes it off and insists that he’s a ‘big boy’ who ‘does whatever the fuck he wants to’. He refuses to let me take the blame for his actions, and whenever I try to he reminds me that _he_ was the one who texted me out of the blue, _he_ invited me to meet up again, _he_ paid me a surprise visit on tour, and _he_ was the one to invite me in for the night after trying to end things between us. He knew who I was and what he was getting into _every_ time, and he chose not to walk away.

And yet, I still can’t relinquish responsibility.

He said it’s because I’m a masochist who gets off on punishing myself. I told him I’m not and I don’t, but I joked that if _he_ wants to punish me I’m totally onboard with that idea. That particular conversation ended up going in a… interesting direction.

Christmas this year was more difficult than usual. There has only been one Christmas I can ever remember where Zac and I weren’t a couple, or at least best friends. And because we’re family, and we live so close together, we spend every Christmas together. I know it’s bad, but it was kind of like getting to spend Christmas with my wife _and_ my mistress (he’d kill me if he knew I just called him that). I never really had to wish I was elsewhere because I had everyone I loved in one room.

But this year, that wasn’t the case.

I somehow managed to sneak away from my entire family after dinner while they were all in various stages of turkey comas, and Tommy and I got to talk on the phone for a few minutes until one of my siblings inevitably came and found me and dragged me back to the ‘merriment’. I felt bad that I had to cut our conversation short, not only because I missed him and I knew he missed me, but because I could tell that he was having a tough time enjoying the holidays for the same reason he’d struggled with Thanksgiving. Although, I think Thanksgiving was easier for him because he was halfway around the world, and even though he felt guilty for being away from his mom, he could hang up the phone and have a few glasses of wine at dinner with his friends and try to relax. But at home with his family, there was no escaping his grief _or_ theirs.

I guess we’re both becoming masters of pretending we’re exactly where we want to be when really we’d give anything to be somewhere else entirely.

But I’m working on that. For one of us, at least. Today is our first band meeting of the new year, and one of the more pressing topics on the agenda is who we’re going to invite to Fools Banquet next month. Generally we all tend to agree on the guest list, none of us have many friends in the industry that we don’t all at least like, so there’s never really been any bickering when it comes to deciding who we wanted to spend the week making music with. If there is any debate, it’s more likely to be about how to whittle the guest list down because it’s gotten completely out of control. But regardless of the lack of conflict in the past, we have rules in place to avoid it in case a problem _does_ present itself. You don’t spend almost two decades in a band with your brothers without figuring out how to deal with arguments before they happen.

For example, we’re almost always a democracy. If it’s two against one and there’s no way of making the decision unanimous, the majority will inevitably rule. But, when it comes to deciding things like Fools Banquet, we also have a system to avoid one of us potentially being overruled repeatedly and ending up feeling miserable and unheard. We each get one veto. Or one “no veto”, I should say (we don’t like to do things like everyone else, in case you hadn’t noticed). Instead of being able to say no to a decision the other two have agreed on, we all get the chance to make a decision that the other two _can’t_ say no to.

And I fully intend to use my “no veto” for Fools Banquet to invite Tommy.

Just the thought of having him here for a whole week gives me goose bumps! I know we’re not going to get to spend a whole lot of time together, because even if we do end up working in the same group we won’t be alone. And I know from experience that groups either tend to work waaay into the early hours of the morning and then completely pass out afterwards, or if everyone finishes up early we all hang out together. But I don’t care. I don’t care if I barely see him or if the only time we get to spend together is when we’re lying unconscious in the same bed, I just want to be with him again.

It may have only been a month since I last saw him, but that’s thirty-one days too many!

I’m the first of the three of us to arrive at our record company offices in downtown Tulsa, and the building is completely quiet and empty as I unlock the main door and let myself in. The heat isn’t on, but it’s still a hell of a lot warmer in here than it was out in there in the middle of a mid-west winter. It’s a little strange to be here alone. It’s not the first time I have been, in fact most days I’m the first to arrive and the last to head home, but still… it’s an odd feeling. I can never decide if I feel incredibly free or incredibly lonely. And today is stranger than usual because if I turn and look out of the large windows at the front of the office, all I can see outside is my car and lifeless, snow-covered streets. There’s no movement, no sound, no nothing.

It’s like I’m the last man alive or something.

Apparently someone on our team has been here at some point over the holidays, because when I step into the office that Ike, Zac and I share it looks as though a UPS truck threw up on my desk. The majority of it is probably fan mail, though usually it doesn’t end up in our office because it’s chaotic enough in here as it is. I guess someone decided that we should open some of the Christmas cards and gifts we’ve been sent sometime before Valentine’s Day, and they know us well enough to know that unless said cards and gifts are practically handed to us, we’ll be too busy to so much as glance at them.

Since I’m early and I have nothing more pressing to do, I make myself comfortable and find a small space for my coffee on my desk before sifting through the mail in front of me, randomly picking out cards and gifts to open. I’m actually not surprised to find that most of it comes from Europe, Asia and South America; our more ‘enthusiastic’ fans tend to reside there. Most of our American fans are past the point of caring enough to send us gifts and cards on special occasions. Which is honestly fine by me, because there’s _very_ little I want for when it comes to material possessions, and as much as I wish I could keep every card and letter I receive, I’d need to buy another house just to store them all.

It takes me almost half an hour to get to one of the slightly larger gifts in the pile, and I’m about to tear into the brown paper packaging when I stop and do a double take at the sight of the return address. I thought I was imaging it, but I’m not. It’s from Tommy. Well it’s his address, even if his name isn’t anywhere to be seen, and I tear the paper off more eagerly than I did with any other gift this holiday season. But once I’ve got the paper and the gift wrap off, and I’ve opened the plain cardboard box inside, I pretty much freeze. And then after staring at it for a moment, I burst out laughing so loudly that, if there was anyone else in the room with me, it probably would have scared the crap out of them.

I can’t believe he did this!

Pulling my iPhone out of my pocket, I navigate to my favorite contacts and tap his name. It rings several times before he finally answers, and my smile spreads even wider at the mere sound of his voice. “Tommy Hoe Ratliff speaking. How may I service you?”

“You’re such a fucking _dork_.”

“Takes one to know one.” He retorts playfully, and I swear I can hear him rolling over in bed. “What’s up?”

“I just got the _other_ Christmas present you sent me...” I smirk, running my fingers over the smooth, cold metal of the Shake Weight sitting in the box on my lap while he snickers proudly on the other end of the line. “What the actual fuck?”

“Like it? I saw it and I thought of you.” I’m not entirely sure how to take that statement. Is he referring to the fact that we saw the infomercial for this contraption for the first time while I was in Burbank last month? Or is he suggesting that he thinks I need to get in better shape? “I figured you could use it to help keep certain muscles toned until we can get together for a proper… workout.”

With a snort of amusement, I lift the gadget out of its box and give it a shot. “How thoughtful.”

“What can I say? I’m a thoughtful kinda guy.”

“I can already feel the burn.”

He laughs, which only serves to make my stomach start doing somersaults. “It actually works?”

“Oh yeah, it’s _sex_ cellent.”I reply sarcastically, sending him into a fit of completely adorable giggles. And yet, despite the fact that it’s adorable, it’s still somehow a turn on. Especially since he just brought up the idea of us “working out” together. “Speaking of you and me and a proper workout… what’re you doing next month?”

“All month or a specific day?”

“Probably the second week, but it might change.”

“What might change?” He asks almost warily.

“Every year we hold this… songwriting retreat here in Tulsa. We invite half a dozen or so musicians and singers to come and stay with us for a week, and every day we split up into groups of three and write and record a song together. It’s pretty intense, it's like non-stop work, but it’s _a lot_ of fun. We basically spend five days making music, eating, drinking, and barely sleeping. And… _sometimes_ there’s some pot involved.”

There’s a pause. A very long pause. And just when I’m starting to think that he’s waiting for me to elaborate further, or to actually come right out and invite him, he speaks. “So… you want me to come and hang out in Tulsa for a week?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think that’ll be a little… weird?”

A frown furrows my brow as I stop playing around with the Shake Weight and start worrying about the serious tone of his voice. “Why?”

“Are you kidding? You want me to like… stay with your family or whatever? Your brothers hate me, and I think it’d be kinda awkward for all involved if I had to meet your wife.”

“My brothers don’t _hate_ you.” I lie. But I tell myself it’s not really a lie, because I’m not really sure that Ike does hate him. He hates the fact that I’m sleeping with him, but he has nothing against him personally. Zac, on the other hand, probably despises him. But Tommy doesn’t need to know that. “And my wife isn’t gonna be here. Our wives are taking the kids and going to visit their families for the week. And if you still feel too weird about staying with me, you can stay in a hotel. Or you can stay in the pool house at my family’s old place, that’s usually where everyone ends up crashing when we throw this thing. Our studio is on the grounds, so it makes life easier.”

 “I don’t know…”

Wow.

And here I was thinking he’d jump at the chance simply because it meant we’d get to see each other again.

“Okay… that’s fine, I understand.”

“Don’t be pissed.”

“I’m not pissed.” I insist, shrugging indifferently even though he can’t see it (and even though I’m definitely not indifferent). “I just figured you might wanna get together, but-”

“I _do_. I guess I’m just worried that throwing me, you and your brothers into a studio together for a week isn’t gonna yield positive results. They barely tolerated me for a couple of _hours_ last time.”

“Well… it’d be different this time.” I’m not sure I actually believe that, but at least I managed to _sound_ confident. “It’s not just gonna be the four of us, there’ll be other people here. You might not even have to work with either of them.”

“Even if that’s true, I’m not a songwriter. I totally _suck_ at writing lyrics.”

“It doesn’t matter. That’s the cool thing about working with people you probably wouldn’t have written with otherwise. Everyone brings something different to the table and you get to write songs that you never would have written alone. You can write music, I know you can.”

“Yeah, and it takes me forever! I doubt I could write _and_ record something every day for a week.”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, it’s just to help spark ideas. It’s about the process, not the final product. I can send you some of the stuff we’ve come up with the past few years so you can hear how basic most of it is, they’re really just demos. Besides, it’s a challenge. I thought you liked to challenge yourself.”

Ha! _That_ got him.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

It’s not the “hell yeah!” I was hoping for, but it’s better than “no”. Besides, I’m pretty sure I hear something in his tone that sounds a lot like surrender. Maybe he’s not saying yes right now, but I have a feeling he will eventually.

“That’s all I’m asking.” I assure him, hoping I succeeded in keeping the smug tone out of my voice. Even if we both know he’s going to give in, I don’t want him to know that I know. “So… what’re you doing?”

“Right now? I’m in bed.”

I _knew_ it! “It’s almost ten o’clock there!”

“What’s your point?” He asks unconcernedly, his voice slightly muffled and distorted as he very obviously stretches.

God, I wish I was in that bed with him right now. “My point is you should quit being a lazy asshole and get up!”

“Wanna help me?”

“Help you what?”

“Get up…”

Just the playfully suggestive tone of his voice is enough to make me tremble, sending a shiver down my spine and a rush of pure heat racing straight to certain parts of my anatomy. That heat must have been blood, and it was probably intercepted on its way to my brain and sent on a detour south, because I can barely think clearly right now. As evidenced by the fact that I just unzipped my jeans in the middle of the office.

” _Any_ time.”

It’s the first time we’ve done this since that night he called me from Amsterdam with his hand already well and truly in his pants. I honestly don’t know why we don’t do it more often. Despite the pangs of longing and self-pity we feel over the fact that we can’t actually do any of the moan worthy things that we’re telling each other we wish we could be doing, it still feels fucking _amazing_ to hear his breathing pick up whenever I groan, and the sounds of his soft, needy whimpers on the other end of the line drive me absolutely insane.

But unlike last time, it’s not over in a matter of minutes. He’s not already half-gone when we start, and I’m not racing to catch up. I’m not sure how long it’s lasted, but I’d be happy for it to go on indefinitely. Even if this desk chair isn’t the most comfortable place I’ve ever gotten off.

Unfortunately, there’s a reason I’m in the office the day after New Years, and I can hear that reason coming down the damn hall!

“Shit, I have to go.” I tell him breathlessly, my eyes clamped tightly shut as I fight back both the pleasure and the pain of a release that I think is going to have to remain just out of reach for me this time.

“No,” He tells me defiantly. “Not yet.”

“Tommy…” I sound desperate and pathetic, but that’s pretty much how I feel. “They’re _right_ outside!”

“Come for me.”

“Oh God…”

How can I say no to _that_?!

The voices outside are getting louder, closer, but I can tell that he is, too. The urgency of it all is overwhelming. I feel panicked and afraid, but undeniably excited, too. With the last shred of clarity I possess, I wedge my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I hastily grab a handful of Kleenex from the box on my desk and try my best to minimize the mess. Even though I have to bite my lip and suppress my moans until they’re nothing but stifled whines, I know he knows that I’m finished. Almost as soon as I’m done he lets go, and for one blissful moment I don’t care who is out in the hall or what might happen if they walk in here right now. All I care about it how satisfied he sounds.

“Same time tomorrow?” He asks with a tired chuckle.

“It’s a date, Tommy Hoe.”

With the sound of his breathless laughter ringing in my ears, I quickly end the call and make a concerted effort to straighten myself up (no pun intended). I’ve barely even got my jeans rezipped when the office door opens and Ike and Zac walk in, deep in debate about something or other that doesn’t sound all that life altering.

“Dude, you’re stoned. Mandy is _way_ hotter than Christina!”

“But Christina is the better singer.” Ike points out plainly. “No contest.”

“I never said she wasn’t, but we’re talking about who’s hotter.”

With a frown firmly fixed on his face, Isaac drops down into his desk chair and rolls it over to our side of the room. “No, we were talking about who’s _better_.”

Apparently they’ve decided to warm up for our band meeting by discussing far less pressing and personal topics first.

This should be fun.

“Christina has a better body _and_ a better voice.”

Zac shrugs unconcernedly. “Mandy’s prettier and _way_ nicer. Plus she’s a better actress.”

“She played an animated Disney character!” Retorts Ike, giving a dismissive roll of his eyes. “At least Christina was actually on screen in her movie!”

“Mandy’s been on screen before, too!”

“In bit parts, chick flicks and TV shows!”

“Oh, and ‘Burlesque’ wasn’t a chick flick _at_ _all_?”

“Taylor, help me out here, _your_ brother is talking crazy.” Oh great, now I’m being invited to join the insanity. “Who’s better: Christina Aguilera or Mandy Moore?”

“Gee, the agony of choice…” I love how selective his memory is (and always has been). Despite all evidence (and outright admissions) to the contrary, he still likes to pretend I actually find women sexually attractive. “I guess, if I absolutely _have_ to choose… I’d go with Mandy.”

“Whatever. You both have crappy taste.”

“I’ll tell Nat you said so.”

“You know what I mean.” He grumbles, and I can tell from the look he’s giving me right now that he’s actually _seeing_ me for the first time since entering the room. “Did you run here or something?”

Uh-oh… “No… why?”

“I don’t know, you’re just all red and sweaty. You look gross.”

“Oh… well… I guess I was in kind of a hurry to get here on time. And it was really cold out, so-”

“That’s really interesting and everything, but can we please just get this over with? Junia was fussing all night again and Kate’s exhausted; I promised her I’d be back as soon as I could so she can try to get some sleep this afternoon.”

I know I shouldn’t take it personally. I vividly remember what it’s like to have a new baby at home, I’m sure his attitude has more to do with a lack of sleep than with any lingering hostility and resentment he feels towards me. But I still hate how strained things are between us, and it’s difficult for me to brush off all of the scathing looks and comments he’s been throwing my way for the last six months. Sometimes I wish we’d never been anything more than brothers; life would be a lot less emotionally draining without that added baggage.

“Alright, so… Fools Banquet two-thousand and eleven!” Ike grins, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Who makes the cut?”

Tommy’s name is on the tip of my tongue, but I feel as though I ought to ease into this by suggesting someone I’m _not_ sleeping with first. “How about Cary Brothers?”

“No arguments here.”

“Isn’t he gonna be on tour next month?” Zac asks, already pulling out his iPhone so that he can google tour dates. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s doing. “I swear he said something about it on his twitter.”

“Well, what about Eric Hutchinson?” Ike suggests, grabbing a notepad from his desk and scribbling names on it. “Oh! And the girl who opened for him in L.A.?”

“Meiko?” I ask hopefully as I recall how impressed we all were with her when we saw her perform for the first time a couple of years ago. “Yeah, I liked her.”

“Me too.”

Wow. That’s twice in one day that Zac and I have agreed on something. And both times it happened to be girls.

Interesting.

“Okay, Cary is on tour with that Joshua Radin guy.” He sighs, his eyes still trained on the screen of his phone. “But I was thinking maybe we could invite Charlie?”

“Mars?” Grins Ike, scribbling Charlie’s name down on his list. “Sweet! We haven’t jammed with him in _forever_.”

“Oh! We should totally ask at least one of the Hölljes.” Zac adds, suddenly sounding a lot more excited about this than before. “And Elizabeth.”

“Fuck, yes.” Agrees Ike whole heartedly, and I nod along enthusiastically as I wait for the chance to announce my one and only “no veto” guest.

I guess now is as good a time as any. They’re both in really good moods and they’ve already come up with a decent sized list that they seem happy with. No time like the present, right?

“Before I forget, I invited Tommy.”

The chatter that Ike and Zac had been engaged in when I blurted out my little confession comes to a screeching halt. They both stare back at me with baffled expressions on their faces, as though something I just said was in a language that they not only don’t speak but have never even heard before.

“What?” Ike asks with a soft, hesitant chuckle, like he’s hoping I’m kidding. “When?”

“This morning, actually.”

“You didn’t even ask us!”

I shrug faintly, trying not to let him make me feel like an asshole even if probably deserve to. “I was talking to him and Fools Banquet was on my mind, so I asked.”

He drops his head back against his chair in frustration, emitting a very obviously agitated groan of disapproval. “God damnit, Tay!”

It’s pretty much the reaction I was expecting from him. In fact, it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. And neither is Zac’s. Probably because he’s just sitting there with absolutely no expression on his face, staring at his hands in total silence.

“Uninvite him.” Ike commands finally. “Tell him we already have too many people or something.”

“I can’t.”

“You mean you _won’t_.”

“Okay, that too.” I roll my eyes. If he wants to split hairs that’s fine, it doesn’t change anything. “I asked him, it’s done. I didn’t tell you guys because I felt some dire need to discuss it, I just wanted to make sure you knew. So… now you know. Deal with it.”

Yes, I’m being an asshole. Maybe I’ve always been one, but until now I wasn’t vocal enough about what I wanted for myself for anyone to really realize it. I’ve never had any trouble voicing my opinion when it comes to our music and our career path. When it’s about the band, I’m all business. But when it’s my personal life, I can’t seem to stand up for myself the way I do in the studio or at the office. I find myself biting my tongue until it hurts, nodding and smiling like I’m fine with whatever decision has just been made for me. But inside my own head I’m _screaming._

Maybe I’m done keeping it all in.

“I wanna invite Carrick.” Zac interjects just as Isaac begins lecturing me on what a selfish brat I’m being.

“Carrick?” I hear Ike ask less than enthusiastically as Zac fixes me with what I’m sure is meant to be a withering stare. “We always invite him. Don’t you think we should invite someone else for once?”

“We invite him all the time because he’s insanely talented. Having him there might _almost_ make up for some of the _less_ musically capable people on the list.”

I suppose that comment is supposed to piss me off and make me snap at him while he sits there with that smug look on his face. He’s trying to make me jealous. Apparently he still hasn’t caught onto the fact that I’ve moved on and therefore I don’t give shit if he bends Carrick over his bass drum and screws his brains out.

“We should definitely put Carrick on the list, he always comes up with awesome song ideas.” I agree nonchalantly, leaving Ike looking thoroughly confused as he glances back and forth between my easy smile and Zac’s dark scowl.

“O-kay, Carrick is on the li-”

“Alex.” Zac almost immediately counters, making it nearly impossible for me not to choke on my coffee. “Let’s invite Alex Greenwald.”

“ _That_ was random.” No, Isaac, that was a cold and calculated attack. “We haven’t talked to the guy in years, I don’t even know if he’s still playing.”

“He is. I heard some of the stuff he’s been doing with Mark Ronson a couple of months ago. I think he’d be a really great fit for Fools Banquet. I mean, he can play a bunch of instruments, he has an awesome voice, and he was always making up songs on the spot. I don’t know why we never invited him before.”

Yes he does. And the nervous expression on Ike’s face as he gauges my reaction makes it clear that he remembers why, too.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea...” He begins calmly.

“Why? _I_ think he has a lot to contribute, and if we don’t invite him just because _some_ people have issues with him, it’d be our loss.”

“I agree with Ike.” There’s a sentence I’m not used to saying. “I think we should just leave it alone.”

“Yeah, well, too bad. He’s my ‘no veto’.” Zac shoots back petulantly. “Deal with it.”

While Zac and I glare daggers at each other from our desks, Ike stands up and grabs his coat and scarf off of his chair. “I don’t know why I fucking bother.” He mutters in his most pissy tone, and I can’t say I blame him (or that I don’t relate to the sentiment entirely). “I could've just stayed at home with Nikki and the boys, but _no_. I dragged my ass out here in sub-zero temperatures so I could watch you two bitch at one another. Like I didn’t already suffer through more than enough of that last year! You need to deal with whatever problem it is that you have with each other, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t have the psychology degree necessary to figure it out for you. And I refuse to sit here and waste any more of my time while you try to make each other, _an_ dme, as miserable as possible for no apparent reason!”

“Isaac-”

“No, you know what, Zac? Fuck you both, I’m going home.”

It’s probably bad that, whenever he gets like this, I tend to picture him as that surly fat kid on South Park. Which, of course, makes it nearly impossible to avoid smirking, even when it’s completely inappropriate. Which just pisses him off more and makes everything worse. But right now I have other things on my mind that are making it impossible for me to find amusement in anything.

As soon as Ike has very dramatically slammed the office door on his way out I turn my attention to Zac, who is already in the process of putting his own coat back on. “What’re you trying to prove?”

“Prove?” He asks, his clueless and innocent expression so fake that I could puke. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Bull. Shit. “We haven’t seen or spoken to Alex in almost eight _years_ -”

“Because of _you_. Ike and I never had a problem with him.”

“No? Because I seem to recall you having a pretty damn big problem with him when he was fucking me.”

His jaw clenches, even though I can see that he’s summoning every last shred of calm he posses in order to make a show of not caring. “Yeah, well, I was young and foolish back then. I thought you were something special. Eight years is a long time, you learn a lot. And _I_ learned that you’re not worth it.”

“Right. So you inviting Alex to Fools Banquet has nothing to do with me inviting Tommy?”

“Why would it?” Zac shrugs as though it’s no big deal. “Like I said, I don’t care what _or_ who you do anymore.” Yeah, sure, uh-huh. “And I really don’t see what you’re getting so worked up about. I mean, unless you’re afraid that Alex and Tommy might get to talking, comparing notes...” A self-satisfied smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he wraps his scarf around his neck. “You know… I think this year’s Banquet is gonna be a lot of fun.”

I have the strongest urge to whip one of his own Star Wars figures at him right now, but I’m not fast enough to grab one from his desk before he disappears out the door. I can’t believe he’d do something like this. I know he has a tendency to be a petty little brat sometimes when he’s not getting his own way (to be honest, all three of us do), but this is off the charts, even for him. He knows the position he’s put me in. If I invite Tommy and he invites Alex, I get the pleasure of spending a week with the only three guys I’ve ever slept with, two thirds of whom I’m not on the best terms with right now. Zac and I are clearly not in a very friendly place, and the last time I spoke to Alex we said some not so nice things to one another. I don’t want to drag Tommy into that. I don’t want him to see how badly things ended with Alex. I definitely don’t want to put him in a room with Alex _and_ Zac…

Oh fuck.

What if the three of them end up in a group together?!

This is a bad, _bad_ idea!

Maybe I should just text him and tell him that I thought about it and realized that he was right, it’s too weird. He’s only considering the idea right now, so if I can tactfully retract the invitation before he reaches a decision then it’s no big deal. No harm, no foul… right?

Just as I pull my phone out of my pocket to begin composing my “please don’t come to Tulsa” text, it buzzes in my hand with an incoming message from the very person I was just thinking about. Talk about coincidences.

_Alright you win. I’ll come._

_You better not have been kidding about the pot. :p_

Well… shit.

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written from TOMMY'S POV!!!

  


 

 

Again, just so we're all clear, we're spending this chapter inside **Tommy's** head, not Taylor's.

 

 

I’m not stupid.

I’ve actually always kinda prided myself on being pretty smart. I mean, I’m not claiming I’m like… Einstein or anything. I never really got good grades in school, and I’d definitely never call myself book smart. I just mean that I know how the world works and I know how to take care of myself. I know who I am and I know what I want, and I’ve _never_ compromised either of those things for _anyone_.

Until him.

I can tell myself that I know what I’m doing, that I have it all under control, and that I’m not acting like a total fucking fool. But the reality is that I am in _so_ damn far over my head, and I’m behaving like more of an idiot than I think I ever have before in my entire life. And I’m _happier_ than I ever have been before in my entire life.

You know… when I’m not completely miserable and questioning every-fucking-thing I think and feel.

I’m assuming this is what being in love is like? I wouldn’t know; I’ve never been in love before. But I know people who have, and as I understand it, it’s often equal parts moonbeams-and-butterflies and dog turd. Or maybe that’s just how it goes when you knowingly sleep with a married guy. Which is exactly why I swore up and down that I _never_ would. Well… actually, I swore up and down that I’d never sleep with a married woman. So I guess I _technically_ never broke my own promise to myself…

Screw it, who am I trying to kid? I totally threw my own moral code out of the fucking window of that bar the night I met him, and I barely thought twice about it. And then even when I _did_ think twice about it, I didn’t give a shit. And it wouldn’t be so bad if I could even figure out _why_ I did it, but I have no freaking clue! I mean, yeah, I have feelings for him. The way I feel for him is like… I can’t even explain it. I just know it’s nothing I’ve ever felt before. But back then, back in New York when we first met, those feelings weren’t there. I liked him, and I thought he was hot, and I’ll admit that it was kinda like living out some adolescent fantasy or something. I was hypnotized by the same strikingly blue eyes that I’d once spent countless minutes staring at while getting a hand job from my girlfriend in her Hansonized bedroom. My seventeen-year-old self wanted to know what it’d feel like to kiss the same lips he’d imagined having wrapped around his cock when he came.

I figured I owed the little bastard that much; I made him wear eyeliner in high school.

But, of course, once I’d kissed him I couldn’t stop thinking about him. And my seventeen-year-old self, being the self-centered, horny little shithead that he is… was… whatever, was adamant that one kiss wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t stop plaguing me until I helped him fulfill his fantasy. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was physical attraction, pure and simple.

I never woulda guessed that one moment of drunken curiosity would land me in the mess I’m in now.

I didn’t plan to fall for him. In fact, I planned the _exact_ opposite. I was so fucking determined that things between us were going to stay completely casual. It was supposed to be about sex and nothing else. Except that by the time we actually started having sex, I was so far gone over him that it wasn’t even funny.

It’s kinda crazy. More than kinda. I mean, forget the fact that he’s Taylor fucking Hanson, if he’d just been some guy at a bar I still never would’ve pegged us as compatible as friends, let alone anything more. I couldn’t have imagined that we’d have anything in common besides the fact that we both love music. Not that music isn’t enough to build a connection on, I’m pretty sure it’s the most powerful fucking thing that man has ever invented. But we don’t even play the same genre! And yet we probably have over one hundred of the same artists and bands on our iPods. I’m not gonna pretend that the list of interests we have in common goes much further than that, though. We don’t watch many of the same TV shows or movies, we don’t share many of the same hobbies. But for whatever reason, it just doesn’t matter. He understands me better than some of the closest friends I’ve ever had. I can tell him things I’ve never told anyone before, my deepest darkest thoughts and secrets just come tumbling out of my damn mouth like it’s no big deal when I’m with him.

It’s so _simple_.

And _so_ painfully fucking complicated at the same time.

I know how this story ends. That’s why I never should’ve let it start. There’s no happily ever after in it for me; how could there be? He has a wife and _kids_. No matter how perfect everything feels when we’re together, or even just talking on the phone, I know the second he’s gone and I’m alone again that _that’s_ my reality. I don’t get the guy, I end up with nothing. Either he dumps me, or I dump him, or I spend my entire life waiting for those infrequent times when he can get away from his family long enough to see me for a few days. But no matter what, we don’t saddle up and ride off into the fucking sunset together. This whole thing is _way_ too ‘Brokeback Mountain’ for that.

Like I said, I’m not stupid.

But then again, if I was smart, I probably wouldn’t be flying out to Tulsa next week to spend five days with him and his brothers in his family’s home.  I don’t know _why_ I said I’d go. I guess I’m just that pathetically desperate for any fucking shred of his time I can get. It’s been two months since he came out here to see me, and I feel like if I have to wait another month I’m gonna do something _really_ fucking homicidal. So I’m going to Oklahoma, which honestly isn’t my favorite place on Earth. Most of the middle of the country isn’t. But it’s where he is, so it’s where I’m going.

God damnit… I’m such a fucking lost cause for this guy.

And that’s _so_ not me!

In fact, it’s totally fucking embarrassing. So much so that I’ve only told two people that I’m going to Oklahoma next week. I told Isaac because I got drunk and it slipped out without my consent, and I told Liz… because I asked her to go with me. And the only reason I asked her to go with me is because I’m actually fucking _afraid_ to go alone.

What makes it even worse is that I’m pretty sure she has a crush on me, which makes an already complicated situation even more twisted.

And it’s _his_ fault.

He said that they still had room for more people if there was someone I wanted to invite, especially if I knew any female musicians, since there was only going to be one other girl there and he thought she would appreciate the company. Liz was the first person who came to mind, she just seemed like a natural fit based on everything he’d told me about this whole Fools Banquet thing. It wasn’t until _after_ I asked her to fly out there with me that I realized how it probably looked from her point of view. But by then it was too late to take it back without feeling like a total asshole. And I hate feeling like a total asshole, even if that’s exactly what I am. I’m an asshole who’s sleeping with some poor woman’s husband and leading some innocent young girl on because he needs an ally.

I fucking suck.

This isn’t who I am, I’m not someone who treats other people this way. But I can’t _stop_! I _tried_! When it started getting too real, when he finally said out loud what I was sure we’d both been thinking and feeling for months, I ended it. It was a wakeup call, like some fucking siren going off in my head, screaming at me to run for my life, to get out before it was too late. Only it was too late the second I said “fuck it” and kissed him in that bar. I can’t make it stop now, the way I feel about him doesn’t just disappear when he’s not around. I’ve tried telling myself that I don’t feel the way I do, or that it’ll go away if I just cut ties with him, but if anything I feel _worse_ if I have to go a whole day without hearing his voice.

It’s pathetic, I know. Believe me, I _hate_ this, I hate being this person. But if not being this person means that he’s not in my life anymore… I guess I’m just gonna have to learn to embrace being someone I can’t fucking stand.

“Stop biting your nails.”

The familiar voice beside me at the bar snaps me out of my self-loathing, and I look up to see that brilliant smile I know so well. “Fuck off, _mom_. I’m going for a distressed look.”

Adam laughs, which never fails to bring at least a small smile to my lips no matter what the hell else is going on. “You’ve definitely got it.”

“Thanks.”

The bar tender places a shot glass in front of him and pours him the drink that he must have ordered before I even realized he was standing beside me. I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting over here by myself, and I feel like a total dick because it’s his goddamn _birthday_ party and I’ve barely said two words to him all night.

“Seriously though… what’s goin’ on?” He asks, his eyes full of concern as he turns his body towards me and offers me his full attention. “You’ve been chewing on your thumb nail and staring into your drink for the past half hour.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

He smirks and gives and unashamed shrug. “I make it a point to stare at cute guys, so sue me.”

“I _could_ sue you, just so you know. You’re technically my boss, that’s like sexual harassment and shit.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Have I been making you uncomfortable in the work place?”

“Extremely.” I reply with a straight face (which is almost impossible because he’s grinning at me devilishly and it makes my own lips want to grin right back). “You need to back the fuck off; I haven’t done _anything_ to encourage all this inappropriate attention.”

My serious expression falters all over again when he laughs out loud and gives me a playful shove. “You have _got_ to be kidding me! I’ve never met a bigger cock tease than you, and I have the video footage to prove it!”

“Fuck you! I’m not a fucking cock tease.” I protest in feigned outrage, shoving him back even though we both know I kinda am. But it’s just for show so it doesn’t count; it’s all part of the performance. “ _You’re_ the one who’s always macking on _me_ , just so we’re clear.”

“Crystal.” He winks before throwing his shot back and reaching for my hand. “Come on, I wanna round the gang up for a group photo before Isaac gets too wasted to stand.”

After quickly downing the rest of the whiskey in my glass, I allow him to tug me off of my bar stool and in the direction of the dance floor. “Didn’t he reach that point about ten minutes after he got here?”

I make a concerted effort to put Taylor and our entire fucked up situation out of my mind for the rest of the night so that I can focus on my friends and have some fun, because it’s Adam’s birthday and I owe him _at least_ that much. I’m not entirely successful, but I feel like I do a decent enough job of faking it. I laugh and smile when appropriate, and I do my best to pay attention to conversations so that I can attempt to participate every so often.  I spend most of my time sitting with Isaac, Monte and their wives, which kinda makes me feel like a fifth wheel. I should probably get used to that, though. As long as I’m in a relationship with a married guy who lives a thousand miles away, it’s not very likely I’ll ever be able to hang out with my married friends without feeling like an eternally single loser.

By the time the party starts dying down, Monte and Lisa have called it a night and gone home to relieve their babysitter, and I’m lounging in one of the plush black booths by the bar with Isaac and Sophie, waiting for her to sober up enough to drive us home. All in all, it’s been a fun night. I had a few drinks, met a few new people, and got to hang out with friends I haven’t seen since Adam’s New Years Eve bash almost a month ago. It was a really good time.

But I still fucking miss him.

“That was one _killer_ party, if I do say so myself.” Adam announces contentedly, dropping down into the booth beside me and kicking his feet up onto the small table covered in spilled drink residue. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

“Because it probably cost you half of what you made last year.” Sophie chuckles, sipping on her glass of water.

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.” He grins back at her before turning his attention to Sauli as he sidles into the booth and settles down next to him. “How’re you feeling, babe?”

“I’m good now, but tomorrow is going to suck.” Sauli smiles ruefully, resting his head back against the black leather seat.

“Then it’s a good thing our plans for tomorrow consist of staying in bed until dinner.”

“Ours too.” Isaac pipes up, surprising us all because until now he looked like he’d passed out. I’m glad he’s at least somewhat conscious; I wasn’t looking forward to carrying him out to the car. “Fuck… I shouldn’t have had that last shot.”

“You shouldn’t have had those last five shots.” Sophie teases him, pecking him on the tip of his nose.

He groans pitifully and snuggles up closer to her, nuzzling his face into her shoulder as she giggles at him and lovingly strokes his head. Adam laughs softly and drapes his arm around Sauli, who lets his head fall against Adam’s shoulder as his tired eyes close. They all look so right together, so happy. It’s all so fucking easy for them, and the whole thing just makes my heart twist until it hurts so much that I almost want to reach up and grab my chest like I’m suffering some kind of fucking medical emergency.

“I missed you guys.” Muses Adam with a yawn. “Why don’t we hang out more?”

“Because you’re a celebrity and we’re just ‘the little people’.” I remind him, and he nods solemnly as though he understands my point. “We’re not _fabulous_ enough; we’d just be holding you back.”

“Right. Totally.” He sighs in disappointment, idly playing with his boyfriend’s hair for a moment before he speaks again. “But really, _why_ don’t we hang out more? It’s not like we live hundreds of miles away from each other or anything, and it’s not like you have anything better to do.”

“Hey!” I laugh, my jaw dropping slightly as he beams proudly at me. That comment deserves at least a slap on the arm, and that’s exactly what he gets. “I might not be an American Idol _runner up_ , but I have a fucking life, asshole.”

“Well how about you make time in your busy schedule to come over to my place next week?” He proposes, looking to Isaac and Sophie hopefully. “We can have dinner or something.”

Sophie nods enthusiastically. “As long as I don’t have to cook, that sounds good to me!”

“I can’t.”

Adam rolls his eyes at me, obviously assuming that I’m joking and only pretending to have something better to do. “Your social calendar is _so_ fully booked that you can’t find even _one_ night next week to have dinner with your Glamily?”

“I really can’t, I’m sorry.”

“ _Seriously_?”

“Yeah.” I can’t help but chuckle softly at the indignant look on his face right now. “I’m going out of town.”

He frowns, his interest clearly piqued. “Where to?”

“Uh…” Shit. “I’m just going to this music thing.”

“ _What_ music thing?” He asks in amusement, my evasiveness only making this whole thing worse. “Like a festival or something?”

“No… it’s kinda like a song writing thing. It’s not a big deal.”

“He’s gonna make beautiful music with the chick from Hanson.” Isaac slurs before cracking up at his own drunken joke.

 _Now_ I wish he would’ve just passed the fuck out.

“What’s he talking about?” Adam asks somewhat accusingly, a vague smile on his lips and a nervous look in his eyes. “You’re still hanging out with that guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Since when?”

I shrug, unable to hold his stare any longer and choosing instead to gaze into the empty glass in my hands. “Since… always. Since that time he came to the show, I guess. I don’t know.”

The silence that follows my mumbled admission feels like it’s going to crush us all. It’s seriously like some fucking weight hanging over us, getting lower and lower, lingering right above our heads. If someone doesn’t speak soon it’s gonna fall.

“I should get my _charming_ husband home before he says anything else to spoil the mood.” Sophie jokes uncomfortably.

“I can help you get him to the car.” Offers Sauli chivalrously, probably in an attempt to escape the awkward tension loitering in our once cozy little booth.

I don’t see why they should all get to leave without me! “I’ll get his left arm, you get his right.”

The second I start to get out of my seat, Adam grabs me by the sleeve of my leather jacket and pulls me back like a parent wordlessly telling their naughty child to sit the fuck down and stop embarrassing them. And the look he’s leveling me with gives me the exact same feeling. He waits until Sauli and Sophie have helped Isaac out of the booth and walked away before glancing around at the last few straggling party guests, and then he finally turns his attention back to me.

“What the fuck are you doing, Tommy?”

“What do you mean?” I ask almost innocently, like I really don’t know what he’s talking about.

I’m such a fucking moron.

“You _know_ what I mean. I thought you said you weren’t gonna get mixed up with him.”

“I never said-”

“Yes you did!” He protests stubbornly. “When you took off to go see him in Portland last summer instead of flying back to L.A. with us, I told you to be careful-”

“And I told you I wasn’t gonna do anything stupid.”

“Yeah, and you also told me there was nothing to worry about. But guess what, Tommy? I’m still worried!”

 “Well, don’t be.” I sigh in frustration, wishing he’d just drop the whole damn thing so I can go back to living in denial. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Really? And what is that, exactly?”

“None of your fucking business.” I’m fully aware that I’m being incredibly childish right now, and that I should probably quit pouting and apologize to him because I know he’s only trying to help.

But instead I continue to scowl at my jeans and refuse to look at him.

He lets out a long, tired (and maybe even a little sad) breath, slumping in his seat and running a hand through his dark hair. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I know you’re twenty-nine now and everything, but you do realize I’m still older than you? I don’t need you to look out for me, I’m not a kid.”

“I know you’re not, I never said you were. But just because you’re older doesn’t mean I can’t still worry that you’re getting yourself caught up in something you’re not gonna be able to get out of without getting screwed over.”

Ugh. I hate it when people make valid points during arguments. “I know, and I appreciate the concern and everything, but I’m fine.”

“Look me in the eyes and say that.” I would if I could, but we both know I can’t. “Tommy-”

“Look, just… don’t, okay?”

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

“I’m not gonna get hurt.” I lie as confidently as I can, feeding him the same bullshit I fed myself for months on end last year. I’ve got the lines so well rehearsed I can actually make them sound believable. “It’s nothing serious, we’re just fooling around.”

“Are you sleeping with him?” My silence seems to be a good enough answer for him, and I hear him groan in disapproval. “You know this is a fucking terrible idea, right? This kind of thing _never_ ends well. He’s _married_ -”

“You’re telling me this ‘cause you think I don’t know?”

“No, I’m telling you because I think you’ve convinced yourself it doesn’t matter, but it _does_.” Someone remind me to punch Isaac in the face later for opening his big mouth. “This is _so_ not like you, Tommy. You don’t fuck around with other people's significant others, you’re smarter than that.”

Apparently not. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know _you_. And I know you wouldn’t do something like this just for the hell of it.”

God-fucking-damnit, _why_ couldn’t he have just been some conceited rock star whose music I played for a paycheck but whose presence I never wanted to be in off stage?! I never would’ve wanted to be anything but his bass player if he’d been a fucking jerk. But _no,_ he has to be one of the best people I’ve ever met just so I’d like him enough to let him get to know me so well that he can see right through me even when I least want him to.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

“I…” I shake my head, trying to scrounge up enough energy and audacity to flat out lie and say that I like fucking him and that’s all.

But I can’t.

Neither of us speaks for the longest time, I don’t think either of us knows what to say. I feel like I basically just admitted that I’m in love with a married former-child star. What’s a person supposed to say to something like that?

Mazel tov?

“I know it’s your life and it’s your choice, but I really don’t think you should go to this song writing thing or wherever it is you’re going with him.”

“I already booked my flight.” I reply lamely, like that’s a good enough reason for me to go through with it. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, you said that already.”

And clearly he didn’t believe me this time anymore than he did the last time I said it. “Look… I get why you’re worried and everything, and I love you for caring, but… I’ve got it under control, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

“You said that already, too.” He informs me with a very small, very sad smile.

“I’m gonna be fine, don’t worry about me.”

“Try to fucking stop me.”

With a heartfelt smile, I lean over and wrap my arms around him in a tight hug, feeling incredibly grateful that I have someone like him in my life. I’d be _so_ unimaginably screwed if it weren’t for my friends, I seriously don’t know what I’d do without them. Hopefully I’ll never have to find out.

“Be careful.” He sighs resignedly against my ear as I start to pull back. “I mean it.”

Rather than making him some bullshit promise that I probably won’t be able to keep no matter how hard I try, I simply lean in and peck him lightly on the lips. “Happy birthday, Baby Boy.”

“That’s all I get?”

I grin down at him as I stand from my seat and make a show of stepping over his legs, leaving him thinking for a second or two that I might just straddle him and give him a proper birthday kiss like the one he gave me on stage last year. “I’m a cock tease, remember?”

For that remark I receive a slap on my non-existent ass, and I flash my most sassy smile at him over my shoulder as I walk away across the room. But it doesn’t take long for my good mood to fade as the rest of our conversations begins replaying itself in my mind. It’s one thing arguing with myself about what an idiot I’m being, but having someone else point it out, someone who knows and loves me and is trying to protect me, just makes it feel all the more real.

By the time I’ve made it back to the car, Sophie and Sauli have only just finished settling Isaac into the passenger seat. Sophie and I say our goodbyes to Sauli before heading away from Hollywood and back to the less glamorous parts of Los Angeles where us non-celebrities reside. I know without even having to ask that I’ll be crashing on their couch tonight; it’s late and I doubt Sophie wants to drive my ass all the way out to Burbank right now. We make small talk about the party and our plans for the next couple of days, but in my head I’m still thinking about everything that Adam said to me back at the club.

As we merge onto the freeway and settle into a comfortable silence, I dig my iPhone out of my pocket and open the last text Taylor sent me, and then I start to compose a reply.

_I’ve been thinking about next week, and I’ve decided not to come. It’s just too complicated and I think it’d be better for both of us if I stayed here. I’m sorry, I know you wanted me there, but I can’t._

My thumb hovers over the ‘send’ button while I read the text over and over again. But eventually I give up, pressing the backspace button instead and holding it until every last letter is erased. I can’t do it. I can’t _not_ go.

I can’t _not_ see him.

I’m _so_ fucking stupid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	33. Chapter 33

  


 

 

_ Tulsa, Oklahoma – February 3rd, 2011 _

 

This is the moment I’ve been longing for and dreading in virtually equal amounts for the past month. Tommy’s plane is due to land in ten minutes. I _finally_ get to be with him for the first time in sixty-three days. It may not sound like very long, but it’s felt like for-fucking-ever. I can’t wait to see those deep brown eyes of his, breathe in the subtle scent of his cologne tinged with the smell of his hairspray and the leather of his jacket, feel the warmth of his skin against mine, kiss him…

And then take him back to my parent’s old house and force him to deal with the shitty attitudes of my brothers.

Oh, yeah, and introduce him to another guy I fucked and consequently fucked over.

There have been so many chances for me to talk him out of this ever since I talked him into it. I know that he’s had doubts from day one; I could have gently nudged him into backing out of this if I’d really wanted to. But I wanted to see him more than I wanted to save myself the indignity of being subjected to a very special edition of ‘Taylor Hanson: This is Your (sex) Life!’

So every time I felt him pulling back from the idea of flying out here, I pulled him right back in like the idiot I am. And then I talked him into bringing a friend along (because Lord knows I need a bigger audience for what is likely to be one hell of an awkward situation), and he invited Liz. Which is fine, I guess. Except for the fact that, based on everything he told me about her last year when they were on tour together, it sounds like she’s got an impressively large crush on him. I’ve teased him about it, but he always brushes it off and says it’s not like that and they’re just friends. And I believe him, I do… but I still can’t help thinking it’s going to be weird.

Weird _er_.

Fuck… five minutes.

I should probably get out of my car and go into the damn airport before his flight gets in and he assumes I’ve left him stranded here. Good thing Tulsa International is an impressively small airport and it’ll take me _less_ than five minutes to get from the parking lot to arrivals. Everything in this town is impressively small. Don’t get me wrong, I love Tulsa. It’s the only home I’ve ever really known and I have a lot of wonderful memories and friends here, not to mention my family. But sometimes it really does feel like there’s not enough air. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. I try to take a breath and I feel as though I can’t. As pathetic as I know it makes me, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t found myself in the midst of or on the verge of more than my fair share of panic attacks because of how fucking _confined_ I feel here.

I know it’s not Tulsa that’s to blame. There’s no invisible bubble around this city keeping me contained. It’s my own life that I can’t escape. It just so happens that my life is here. My parents, my siblings… my wife and kids.

Well… they’re not here this week, actually.

I put Natalie and the kids on a plane to Atlanta yesterday afternoon. And I felt like absolute shit for being so relieved when their flight status went from ‘on time’ to ‘departed’. I miss my kids, I really do. When I’m not with them it honestly does feel like a part of me is missing. And I even miss Nat; it’s impossible not to miss someone who has been by your side almost constantly for a whole decade. But I can’t deny that I feel so much freer when I’m by myself. I feel lighter today than I did yesterday.

At least, I _did_ until I got in my car to drive to the airport an hour ago.

It’s hard to feel free when I’m standing on the edge of an emotional minefield that I’m going to have to spend the next five days tiptoeing my way through to avoid having everything blow up in my face.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I know before I even glance down at it that it’s the flight status alert text that I signed up for.

He’s here.

I should be running into the airport right now, I should be so excited that I knock people down in my haste to get to arrivals and see his smile. And I _am_ excited. But I’m more than a little terrified, too. And I’m pissed off. But I’m not sure who I’m more angry at: Zac for ruining what was supposed to be an amazing week of making music with the guy I’m crazy about, or myself for making such a fucking mess of my life that he was even able to turn this week into a potential nightmare for me.

With a deep breath, I open the car door and step out into the crisp February evening. There’s still so much snow on the ground, despite the fact that it’s barely snowed in days. But when the temperature never rises above thirty, it’s hard for anything to melt. I failed to tell Tommy how cold it’s been here, I didn’t want to scare him away. I just suggested that he bring some long sleeved shirts and hoodies. I hope he listened to me, because it’s fucking _freezing_.

The airport is pretty empty, which I was expecting because the parking lot is the same. Since it’s not exactly a hub it’s rarely ever bustling with activity even during peak travel times. But if it was packed with people and ten times bigger than it is, I’d still be able to get to arrivals in record time. I know this airport like the back of my hand; sometimes it feels like I’ve spent half of my life here.

When I get to arrivals there are about a dozen other people standing about, waiting for the disembarking passengers to round the corner at the end of the hallway we’re all staring down. And the moment the first person actually walks into sight, it’s as though I can _hear_ everybody start paying more attention. I don’t know if they all shifted or something, stood up a little straighter or stepped a little closer to the invisible line we’re not allowed to cross, but I swear I _heard_ it.

Or maybe that’s just the sound of my own heartbeat reverberating through my body.

I end up counting the people as they walk down the hall. There are just a handful at first, then suddenly fifteen more, then a pause, then a few more, another pause, and then another large group. I watch couples reunite with passionate kisses, and it inspires a mixture of anticipation and resentment because I know that I’m not going to be able to kiss him that way as soon as I see him.

More passengers approach. One or two tired looking businessmen walk past me pulling suitcases behind them, and families hug and talk excitedly before making their way off to baggage claim…

But there’s no sign of him.

I’ve lost count of how many people have passed me by now. Dozens. A hundred. Possibly an entire plane full. And now there’s no one left. And he’s not here. What if he decided at the last minute not to go through with this? I wouldn’t blame him, and I’m not even sure that it wouldn’t be for the best. But the idea of not seeing him physically _hurts_. I wanted this so much. I’ve missed him _so_ much.

Where is he?

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I start composing a text to him. It takes several attempts, because I want it to come across as casual as possible and _not_ like I’m freaking out. But nothing I type comes out right. What am I supposed to say? ‘ _So… I’m standing in arrivals and you’re not. What’s up with that_?’

“No sign?”

My head snaps up in surprise at the sound of his voice, and I find him smirking at me as I speechlessly blink at him like a total dumbass. “Huh?”

“I was expecting you to be holding a sign. You know, like ‘Ratliff’ or ‘Rock Star’ or something?”

“Or ‘Asshole’?” I suggest playfully, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. “Do I look like a chauffeur to you?”

“Hey, if the job description fits…”

“Maybe I’ll just be on my merry way and you can get a cab.”

I’m so busy trying to control the overwhelming urge I have to reach out and hug the life out of him, and so distracted by the grin on his face, that I don’t even notice the girl standing beside him until I hear her laughing softly at our joking banter.

“Taylor, this is Liz. Liz, Taylor.”

“Nice to finally meet you.” She smiles at me, shifting her bag onto her shoulder so that she can reach out and shake my hand without setting it down. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Ditto.” She’s pretty. That shouldn’t bother me, but it does. And where does she get off looking so well put together after spending three hours on a cramped plane? I guess that whole being twenty-two thing probably helps. I was twenty-two once… “So… baggage claim?”

Tommy nods, clearly noting how awkward and self-conscious I’m feeling. I wish glaring at him was enough to wipe the smug look off of his face, but apparently it only makes it worse. “Lead the way.”

“How was the flight?” I ask for lack of anything better to say.

It’d be so much easier if it was just the two of us, but since we have company I feel like I have to watch every word that comes out of my mouth in case I manage to give us away. It might seem like I’d have to be an idiot to do something _that_ incriminating, but what can I say? I _am_ an idiot, and if there _is_ a way to say something stupid that totally exposes the true nature of our relationship within five minutes of him getting here, I’m guaranteed to find it.

“It was good.” Liz answers quickly. “Longer than I expected, for some reason. I don’t know why I thought it’d only be like two hours or something.”

I can definitely sympathize with that. “Seems like it should be, right? I mean, flights from Los Angeles to New York are only about five hours, give or take. And Tulsa’s like… halfway. I guess it’s a little closer to New York, technically, but for some reason I always think it’s closer to L.A.”

Wow. This must be the lamest conversation anyone has _ever_ had. I don’t even know why I’m saying these words. But then, that’s a common problem for me. Never a day goes by when I don’t find myself thinking “shut the fuck up, Taylor” _at least_ once.

Thankfully, with Tulsa International being as small as it is, baggage claim is basically right around the corner from arrivals and there’s no need for me to keep talking to fill the silence.

“I don’t wanna make it seem like I’m leaving you guys to do all the heavy lifting, but I _really_ need to find a bathroom.” Liz informs us apologetically, already backing towards the restrooms behind us. “You _totally_ don’t have to get my bags, I can get them when I come back.”

“Actually, I kinda need to go, too.”

“Oh, that’s convenient. So now _I_ have to get _all_ the bags by myself?” I retort in my most overly put upon tone as Tommy begins to walk away from me. But as soon as he turns to look at me, I realize that he doesn’t expect me to stand out here by myself.

He wants me to go in there with him.

The second Liz disappears into the women’s restroom, I make a beeline for the men’s, grateful to find that it’s eerily empty and quiet (score one for small town airports!). There’s only one closed stall door in the whole room, and I have to assume he’s behind it because I _saw_ him walk in here and there’s nowhere else for him to hide.

“Tommy?”

The lock clicks and the stall door begins to open, and I waste no time walking towards it and stepping inside. As soon as I’m standing in front of him, he pushes it shut again and re-locks it, and then his mouth is on mine and he’s kissing me so fiercely that it almost hurts. But it’s a good kind of pain. An _amazing_ kind. The kind you can’t get enough of, the kind you crave, the kind that you keep going back for more of, the kind you fucking _beg_ for. Because it’s uncontrollable desperation, pure and simple. And I can tell you without hesitation, without a shred of doubt, that there’s _nothing_ more incredible than _feeling_ how desperately he wants me.

“Fuck, I forgot how good you feel.” He gasps breathlessly against my lips, kissing me again as he pushes me up against the side of the stall, crushing his body to mine.

To be honest, I’d forgotten how good he feels, too. Not entirely, but almost. I could never forget that it feels amazing to kiss him or touch him or even just be in the same room as him. But I can never remember exactly _how_ amazing it feels until it’s actually happening. I might _think_ I remember, but the reality of it is something else entirely. It’s just one of those things you have to experience _every_ time. You can never accurately imagine it.

“I can’t wait till we’re alone.”

“We’re alone right now.” His smile is mischievous and it sends a shiver of pleasure coursing through me even as I hear myself protest.

“Someone might come in here…”

When his hand closes around the quickly hardening bulge in my jeans, I have to bite my lip to stifle the loud moan I’m dying to let out. “Then you’ll just have to be quiet.”

I should stop this. I know I should. I should do something besides simply standing here and kissing him hungrily while I let him hastily unbutton my jeans and undo the zipper. I should stop him when he slips his hand into my underwear and eagerly wraps his fingers around me. I should say no and push him away instead of whimpering helplessly and bucking my hips to meet every deliberate stroke of his hand.

But I don’t want to.

I just want to lose myself in him completely.

“Tommy…”

“I miss the way you taste.” He murmurs through our kiss, biting teasingly on my lower lip. “Let me taste you.”

 _Fuck_.

Despite the fact that he knows he’s going to get what he wants, and despite the fact that he hasn’t asked for permission to do any of the things he’s done to me so far, the pleading sound in his voice drives me completely crazy. It’s like he’s _begging_ me to let him get down on his knees and wrap those remarkably soft lips of his around me.

Like he really has to ask!

Next thing I know, my hands are on his shoulders and I’m pushing him down forcefully. But the smile on his lips as he gazes up at me makes it clear that he feels anything but forced to be doing what he’s about to do. To anyone watching (and thank God no one is), I’m sure it would appear that I’m the one in control here; he’ll submit to whatever I want. But it’s entirely the opposite. I still don’t know how he manages to make me feel so weak when I should feel powerful, but he does it _every_ time.

I can’t tell if everything is suddenly moving in slow motion because I’m so mesmerized by him, or if he actually is moving that slowly, but either way it seems like the longest moment in the world before I feel his warm breath on my skin, and then his even warmer tongue. My hand reaches out and grabs onto the top of the stall door to steady me as my hips instinctively thrust towards his mouth, and he moans around me when I tangle my fingers in his hair and hold on tightly.

Isaac would shoot me dead if he knew what I was doing right now. That is, if he didn’t have a stroke and die first. This is by far the riskiest thing I have _ever_ done. I’ve _never_ done anything more than kiss another person in a public place before, I wouldn’t dare, I’m not that stupid. Only I am that stupid when it comes to _this_ person. Because here I am in a public bathroom in my hometown, of all places, and I’m letting him go down on me while a few hundred people wait for their luggage right outside the damn door! Anyone could walk in right now, and despite my best efforts, I’m not doing a very good job of keeping quiet. And the more noise I make, the more turned on he gets. And the more turned on he gets, the more intense this whole thing becomes! I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t had a blow job in months, or because I’m getting one in a public place. It’s probably a combination of the two. Whatever it is, it feels ten times more incredible than usual and I can’t hold back no matter how badly I want to.

He moans in satisfaction as I come, which is almost enough to make my legs give out under me. He makes it sound like _he’s_ the one who got the better end of this deal, and the way he made me feel in the process of getting what he wanted from me was just an added bonus.

“You _seriously_ never did that before we met?” I ask him in genuine awe, dazedly adjusting my underwear and pants as he gets to his feet and begins kissing my neck seductively. He makes a vague ‘uh-uh’ sound, but nothing that involves him having to detach his lips from my skin for more than a second. “ _How_ are you so fucking good at it already?”

“Guess I’m just a natural.”

I can’t argue with that.

Especially not when we hear the bathroom door open.

The sound of chatter from baggage claim drifts into the small space we’re in for a moment before dying out again as the door closes, and we stare at each other in anxious and yet somewhat amused silence while we listen to footsteps making their way across the floor. A stall door opens and then closes, and as soon as we’re sure the coast is clear we quickly unlock the door of our own stall and practically run out of the room.

“That was close.” He snickers beside me while my heart hammers away in my chest.

I can’t decide if I found that more hilarious or horrifying. “Yeah, almost _too_ close.”

“ _Almost_.”

He’s in the middle of nudging me suggestively when we find ourselves face to face with Liz. She looks back and forth between us, a hint of suspicion in her eyes in spite of the smile on her lips. “There you are! I was starting to think you guys had up and left me here.”

“Gee, thanks.” Tommy laughs softly, miming a knife through the heart as Liz rolls her eyes at him and smacks him on the arm. “Nice to know how much of a douche bag you think I am.”

Yeah, Liz. He didn’t leave you here. He was just sucking my cock in a bathroom stall. Relax!

“Well while you boys were off primping or whatever, I was out here doing my ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ thing and loading up the luggage.” She informs us proudly, gesturing to the cart beside her which is piled high with bags and guitar cases. “I think we’re only missing your bag; I couldn’t remember what it looked like.”

“I told you not to bother bringing any instruments.” I point out in a chastising tone. “We have like fifty guitars at the studio that you can use.”

“But I wanted _mine_.” He whines pathetically, all but stroking one of the cases like it’s a living creature he’s trying to soothe. “I make better music when I’m playing my own guitars.”

“Dude, you’re such a _girl_.”

“Hey!” Protests Liz in exaggerated offense. “ _I’m_ a girl and _none_ of these guitars are mine.”

“But the rest of the luggage is.” He points out plainly. “We’re here for a week and you packed your whole fucking wardrobe.”

“I like to be prepared for any occasion! Guys have it easy, you can just pack a few pairs of jeans and some shirts and you’re set. Women have to like… plan outfits, and alternate outfits, and accessories and shoes and-”

She’s mid-diatribe when Tommy wordlessly walks away from her and over to the baggage carousel, because apparently he’s done hearing about the hardships of womanhood. Unfortunately for him she will not be ignored, and she continues her rant as she grabs the luggage cart and starts following him. It suddenly strikes me how much they remind me of an old married couple or something. I’m not really sure how I feel about that…

The only thing I am sure of right now is that this is gonna be one hell of an interesting week.

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in Taylor's brain. And the large italicized portion of text is a flashback (I think it's pretty obvious, but I'm mentioning it just in case...)

  


 

 

The ride from the airport to my family's old house is... weird. If it was just Tommy in the car with me, there's no doubt in my mind that we would be flirting for the entire duration of the journey. In fact, we catch ourselves doing something dangerously similar to flirting several times, and each time we quickly make an effort to include Liz in the conversation so that she (hopefully) won't pick up on the sexual tension between us. I'm sure she's no stranger to seeing Tommy flirt with other guys; I've seen him do it more than once, and I didn't spend half of last year on tour with him like she did.

But I'm not just another guy, I'm a _married_ guy.

Liz and I end up spending the majority of the ride discussing Tulsa's Native American heritage while Tommy stares out into the darkness and either ignores us completely or fails to think of anything to contribute to the conversation. I'm not sure which.

Like I said: it's weird.

"Wow..." I glance over at Tommy and smile as he peers out of the window when we finally pull up in front of the house. "It's bigger than I expected."

If Liz wasn't here, I'd make some lame that's-what-she-said-esque crack about how that comment reminds me of his reaction the first time we had sex. But somehow I don't think she'd appreciate the humor... "Yeah, well, there were nine of us so it had to be big."

" _Nine_?" Liz questions in shock. "Is your family like the Duggars?!"

I want to laugh as hard as Tommy is, I do. It's just not so funny to me. My parents never wanted twenty kids, they weren't _that_ crazy. But sometimes I wonder if that's how far Natalie would like to take it. She loves that damn show, she's always joking about us being like them and having our own bus (and no, I don't mean a tour bus). I have nightmares about us being the focus of the next big TLC reality show. It's fucking _terrifying_.

"Sorry, was that rude?" She asks, picking up on my lack of amusement. "Should I have gone with a Jon & Kate reference instead?"

" _No_." I chuckle softly, turning off the engine and opening my door. "I think I'd prefer to be accused of being a Duggar."

"I hate those shows." Tommy adds in disgust, shuddering for dramatic effect. "There's something really wrong with those people."

"If there isn't when they start filming the shows, there is by the time they get cancelled." I agree as I open the back of the car and help them unload their luggage. "We were supposed to do our own reality show a few years ago, for A&E, but they wanted to focus more on our personal lives and our wives and kids rather than our life as a band, so we told them to forget it."

"Thank God. I'd hate to have to lose all respect for you."

"Yeah, that'd _really_ suck." I sigh as we share a knowing look that Liz is entirely oblivious to.

"I think some of those shows are pretty interesting." She muses, lifting one of her many bags out of the car. "I mean, some of these people have really weird lives."

"And _our_ lives are so incredibly dull and normal compared to most people?" Teases Tommy, earning himself a n exaggerated scowl and a slap on the chest from his friend.

  1. "Shut up! You know what I mean."            



In an effort to move things along before she has the chance to touch him again (yes, I'm jealous, so sue me), I show them into the house, giving them a brief tour of each room we walk through or pass by. Liz seems to be enjoying herself, looking around and taking it all in... but Tommy looks completely uncomfortable. I think it has something to do with all of the family photographs on the walls. Every ten feet or so there's a picture of me with my wife or one of my kids. It's probably his idea of hell. Luckily, he's not going to be staying in the main house with everyone else. I commandeered the pool house for him as soon as we started assigning bedrooms to people a few weeks ago, and there are no pictures of my family in there whatsoever.

"This is your room." I tell Liz as she steps into the bedroom that used to belong to the eldest of my three sisters. "There's plenty of closet space and the dresser should be empty."

"Doesn't matter." Tommy informs me. "She's still not gonna be able to find room for everything she brought with her."

"I'll make it work!" She insists, nudging him playfully. "I've got a lot of practice; my closet at home isn't very big, either, but I still manage to fit all this in it."

"Okay, well... make yourself at home. There's food in the kitchen if you're hungry, and Meiko should already be here if you want to introduce yourself and stuff. She's in the room right across the hall."

"Great! Thank you _so_ much for inviting me. I'm so excited to meet everyone and start writing tomorrow!"

Technically, I didn't invite her. Tommy invited her. But I guess I should just smile graciously and nod rather than point that out. "Any time."

"So where am I sleeping?" Tommy asks me as we make our way back towards the staircase. "On the couch?"

"You'll see."

"As long as I don't have to stay in a room with floral wallpaper, I don't care where you put me. I can't sleep in rooms that are like... full of flowers, it gives me nightmares."

With a soft snort of amusement, I roll my eyes at him. "You're so full of shit."

"I'm not! There's something really creepy and depressing about lying there and having _that_ many flowers all around you. It's like being at your own fucking funeral or something."

"Says the guy with the Freddy Krueger tattoo."

"Leave him out of this!" He retorts childishly, petting his own arm as though he's comforting his body art. "He makes me feel safe."

"I bet. No one would _dare_ mess with your left forearm."

"S'what I'm sayin'!"

It's not until we step back out into the chilly night air that he starts to really question where it is I'm taking him, but I simply smirk smugly and refuse to give him a proper answer. It's his own fault; if he didn't get so adorable when he's pissy, I wouldn't be enjoying this so much!

"So I have to sleep in a different building to everyone else? Is that it?" He asks as I open the door and gesture for him to step into the pool house. "I don't smell _that_ fucking bad."

"I thought you'd appreciate the privacy."

He shrugs, clearly fighting back a self-satisfied smile of his own. "I don't know why. It's not like I'm gonna be walking around naked or anything."

"Bummer. _I_ am."

The grin that spreads across his face as I open the bedroom door is entirely devilish and completely contagious. I'm just about to lean in and kiss him when I happen to notice that we're not alone. There's someone else already in here, unpacking their bags and making themselves comfortable like it's no big deal.

But it _is_ a big deal to me, because that someone is Alex Greenwald.

I should probably say something.

 _Someone_ should say something, and since it's basically my home and I'm the host, it stands to reason that breaking this incredibly awkward silence should be my responsibility. But I don't know what to say. I haven't known what to say to him since the last time we spoke.

Which is a big part of the reason why we haven't spoken  to each other in almost a decade now.

 

_ May 4th, 2002 - Los Angeles, California _

_It had been over a month since we'd last been in Los Angeles. I missed it. My brothers always seemed so much more comfortable back in Tulsa than they did anywhere else, no matter how much they liked to travel. But being in Tulsa made me restless. It didn't matter anymore, though. What I felt and what I wanted weren't priorities; I was going to be a father, I had to put my family's needs first. Nat didn't want to have a baby in L.A., she needed to be somewhere familiar with people she knew. And my brothers needed to be somewhere with a recording studio. Tulsa met everyone else's needs, so I packed my bags and kept my mouth shut._

_After spending all day in dead end meetings with our record label, Ike had gone out to meet up with some friends of ours and drink his frustrations away, and Zac had elected to hide out back at the hotel and watch TV._

_And I had gone to see Alex._

_I'd battled with myself over that decision the whole way to his apartment (or the whole way to L.A., if I'm honest). It wasn't like it was a done deal that we would end up having sex just because we were going to be alone together. In fact it definitely wasn't, because I was determined not to let that happen. I just hoped that I had the strength to say no if he made a move._

_I ran my finger along the edges of the dozens of vinyl records in his collection, my eyes following carefully behind it, looking for one that stood out to me above all of the others. Finally, I pulled out a pristine copy of Led Zepplin's 'Rock and Roll'. As I slipped the record out of its sleeve and held it delicately between my fingertips, I paused to appreciate just how beautiful it was. There was something so special about vinyl records, in my opinion, at least. I always felt as though I was holding something timeless when I had one in my hands._

_"Nice choice." He nodded approvingly as the music began to play, and I turned to watch him walk out of the kitchen with only one beer in his hand instead of the two I'd been expecting. "Apparently I didn't have as many of these left as I thought. We'll have to split it."_

_"Okay by me as long as we're drinking **something**."_

_"I can pick up some more later."_

_I settled down on the floor in front of his couch, resting my back against the cushions. I don't know why I chose to sit on the floor when there were plenty of comfortable seats to choose from all around the room, it just... seemed like the right thing to do. And I was at a point in my life where I was all about doing "the right thing", no matter how senseless it was. He sat down beside me without question, like it was completely normal for us to be sitting on the floor. It was one of the reasons I liked being around Alex so much; he was always more than happy to simply go with it. It made everything **so** easy._

_"How come we never do this anymore?" He mused thoughtfully, passing the beer bottle to me without me having to ask for it. "A few months ago we hung out all the time."_

_"I know." But then my ex-girlfriend announced that she was pregnant and I had to actually try to become the adult I'd been pretending to be for half of my life. "We're both just busy recording and stuff, I guess. Plus, it's not so easy to get together when we live in separate states."_

_"Why'd you move back to Ooooo-klahoma anyway?" He chuckled, making sure to sing the name of the state like he'd just stepped right out of the musical. Because he was Alex Greenwald, and no way could he pass up an opportunity to be theatrical. "You're so not Tulsa material, you're a born Californian."_

_"Maybe not."_

_"Fuck that!" Came his immediate and adamant protest. "You even **look** like you belong here."_

_I shrugged, wishing that every word out of his mouth wasn't the truth. "Looks can be deceiving."_

_"Whatever, man. I think you're in denial."_

_That was one truth I couldn't escape. I felt like I spent every second of every day denying to myself and everyone around me that I thought and felt the things that I did. It had been that way for as long as I could remember. Alex had been one of the few people in my life that I'd never really had to hide from. Sometimes I even got the feeling that he'd figured out that Zac and I shared something more than just brotherly affection, and he didn't even care. But maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part. More denial; telling myself that someone besides Zac and I could know our secret and not disown or despise us for it._

_Realistically, I knew the chances of that were zero._

_Not that it even mattered at that point; I'd ended things between us earlier that year. I'd thought that it would make my life less complicated, that I could finally make some kind of peace with who I was and start over. But I hadn't been able to do either. And by getting Natalie pregnant, I'd managed to ensure that I **never** could._

_When I felt Alex's hand on my thigh, I snapped out of the staring match I was having with the coffee table and gazed down at it dumbly, watching as it began to creep seductively higher and higher. He took my lack of protest as permission to go further, leaning over and pressing his lips to the skin of my neck. His palm rubbed against the front of my jeans and my eyes automatically drifted closed as I leaned into his kisses. I knew that I should stop him, but no part of me honestly **wanted** to. It had been months since we'd last fooled around, and I hadn't been with anyone but Natalie since. I wanted to let him kiss me, let him touch me, let him do whatever the hell he wanted to me just as long as the end result was having him inside me. _

_God, I wanted to let him fuck me._

_But I couldn't._

_I'd promised myself that I was done. I was engaged, I was marrying Natalie. I wasn't going to let myself cheat on her anymore - not with Zac, not with Alex, not with anyone. It didn't matter what I wanted, didn't matter whether I was gay or straight; I was going to do the right thing for once.  I was going to be a faithful husband and a devoted father. I was going to be able to sleep at night. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life hating who I was. I couldn't; I wouldn't survive it._

_"Stop." I sighed reluctantly, forcing his hand to cease its attempts to undo the zipper on my pants._

_He pulled back a little to look at me in confusion, but his body stayed close to mine, ready and eager to resume its previous endeavor. I wished he'd move further away; I didn't have the self-control of a saint. "Not in the mood?"_

_"It's not that." I mumbled as I put the bottle of beer on the table, trying my best to ignore how badly I wanted to say "screw it" and let him stick his hand in my pants the way he'd been trying to. "I just... can't."_

_"No such thing as can't." He smirked at me, leaning in to kiss my neck again. It took every last shred of willpower I had to push myself off of the floor and step away from him. "What's wrong? You've never said no before."_

_"Yeah, well... I wasn't engaged before."_

_It was obvious from his unrestrained laughter that he wasn't taking me seriously. For some reason he thought I was joking. I guess a pretty good reason would be that it sounded ridiculous. But when my expression remained entirely serious, he slowly began to realize that I wasn't kidding._

_"What the fuck? Who're you marrying?"_

_"Natalie."_

_He frowned, his eyes studying me so closely that I couldn't help but shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the scrutiny. "Didn't you dump her back in like... January?"_

_"We got back together last month." I shrugged, as though that was all there was to it._

_" **Why**? And why the fuck would you wanna do something as stupid as marrying her?" He questioned bluntly, still completely bewildered by the entire situation. "She's not pregnant, is she?" I figured that failing to verbally respond to the question would be all the answer he needed, and I was right. After no more than five seconds of silence and refusal to look at him, I heard him mutter "shit."_

_"We're getting married next month."_

_" **Shit**." _

_It wasn't like I'd expected to hear "congratulations" or anything, not unless it was tinged with sarcasm. But I'd be lying if I said that it didn't sting to blatantly see just how insane he thought it all was. I was so sick of having to defend myself for it or hear how stupid and irresponsible I was. I'd heard it from my family, from my friends... I was **trying** to do the right thing, trying to do what everyone thought I should do, but it still felt as though none of it was enough. My parents **and** her parents had wanted us to get married (and she'd wanted that, too), so we were getting married. But that didn't stop them all from casting disappointed and disapproving looks my way on a daily basis. And okay, maybe I deserved them, but **fuck** , I was just a kid! I was watching my whole life disappear right in front of me. I'd been handed a road map for a journey that I didn't want to take but couldn't back out of, and apparently I was going to have to be reminded that it was my own stupid fault every single step of the way._

_"Are you sure it's yours?"_

_The question didn't surprise me. In fact it was the first one Ike had asked. But that didn't mean that it didn't piss me off. "Don't be an asshole."_

_"I'm not, I'm fucking serious." He replied insistently as he stood up to face me. "I mean, come on, Tay! It's not like girls don't pull this kind of shit on guys all the time when they want to keep them around."_

_"Nat's not like that. She wouldn't do something like that."_

_"People are capable of doing stupid things when they're afraid of losing something they want."_

_"Look, it's mine, okay? I'm sure."_

_He heaved a deep sigh, running his hands through his dark, shaggy hair. For a moment I almost wanted to laugh. It looked like **he'd** just been told that he'd knocked up his ex-girlfriend and was going to have to marry her. I could practically see his mind racing, trying to find a loop-hole, an escape, some way to get out of it. But there wasn't one, I'd searched high and low._

_"Okay, so it's yours." He eventually relented. "That doesn't mean you have to fucking **marry** her. There are other options-"_

_"Not for her. Not for our families."_

_"So you're just gonna do whatever the fuck they all tell you to do?"_

_"What else **can** I do? Send her child support every month? See my child whenever we happen to play a show in Atlanta? I can't **not** marry her, Alex! We couldn't get worse publicity if we tried! We're going through enough right now with all of this fucking record company bullshit, the last thing we need is my face plastered all over every celebrity gossip magazine and news show with the headline 'Teen Idol Abandons Pregnant Barely Legal Girlfriend'!" _

_"That's Ike talking."_

_"No, it's just the truth. Our careers would be **over**. At least this way I get to keep making music for a living and I get to see my kid grow up. That's all that matters."_

_By that point he was pacing in front of me, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is fucked up. You're **eighteen** , for fucks sake!"_

_"Nineteen."_

_"Oh, I'm sorry, my mistake." He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Do you think it really fucking matters if you're eighteen or nineteen? The point is, you're still just a kid!"_

_Despite that fact that it was the exact same thing I kept thinking over and over again in my own head, I still couldn't stop myself from arguing. "I'm not a kid. I've seen and done more in the last six years than most people do their whole lives! I had to grow up fast-"_

_"Bullshit! That's just the crap you feed Tiger Beat to make you sound all mature and worldly." Challenged Alex, pointing an accusing finger at me. "So you had a number one single when you were fourteen. Big fucking deal! That doesn't mean you're ready for this. I'm four years older than you and I'm not even ready to have a fucking kid and get married!"_

_"Well I'm not you, and I'll **get** ready. I don't have a choice."_

_"And what? You're just gonna play at being straight for the rest of your life, too? Is that the plan?"_

_He was the only person who had asked me that, because everyone else was either oblivious to my true sexual orientation or liked to pretend to be. Or they were Zac and preferred to believe that they were the only guy on the planet that I had any interest in. But regardless of whether anyone else had posed the question or not, I'd asked it of myself countless times. And the only answer I could offer Alex was the same one I'd come up with for myself._

_"I'll do whatever I have to."_

_"This is gonna be the biggest mistake you **ever** make, Taylor."_

_"Thanks for the support." I spat bitterly, turning on my heel and stalking angrily over to the front door of his apartment._

_"Ten years from now, hell, **one** fucking year from now, you're gonna wish you'd never gone through with it! You're gonna be stuck in a miserable marriage to a woman you have absolutely **no** feelings for. You're not just fucking yourself over, Tay, you're screwing her over, too. You think this is the right thing to do? It's not. It's just gonna ruin both of your lives, not to mention your kid's!"_

_"Fuck you, Alex!" I yelled back at him across the room, my fingers gripping the door handle so tightly that it hurt._

_But that pain was nothing compared to the pain in my chest, the pain that had been there since the day I'd heard the words "I'm pregnant". The pain that left me wanting to break down sobbing and **screaming** on a daily fucking basis. The pain that was so fucking excruciating that I often wondered if I'd be better off simply putting myself out of my own misery once and for all. _

_"It's so goddamn easy for you to stand there and tell me how to handle this! You have **no** fucking clue! No one expects you to be fucking perfect all the damn time! You can do whatever you want, go wherever you want, be whoever you want, fuck whoever you want, and no one fucking cares! You have no idea what it feels like to have people **relying** on you to be this person that you **barely** know how to be! You don't know what it's like to fake your way through your whole fucking life!"_

_"You could stop!" He countered immediately, as though it was really that simple. And to him, it probably was. But from where I was standing, it wasn't even an option. It was impossible. "Just stop! To hell with what everyone else **expects** you to be! Just be whoever the hell you are. Fuck them!"_

_"You don't get it." I muttered in frustration, yanking the door open and leaving him speechless in the middle of his living room, staring after me._

No one got it.

No matter what I did, someone out there had something negative to say about it, I couldn't make everyone happy no matter how hard I tried. Not one of the few friends I'd told about my engagement had sincerely congratulated me. The ones who had bothered to say something supportive had done so half-heartedly. None of them thought I was doing the right thing. But both my family and Natalie's felt the exact opposite. Not that they were ecstatic to throw a shot-gun wedding, but they'd rather I married her and at least make a show of being a decent human being than have a child out of wedlock. And my brothers needed me to do it for the sake of our careers.

So I did it.

That was the last time Alex and I really spoke to each other. Our band mates stayed in contact; Phantom Planet had been friends of ours for a while by then, Sam even played on our third album, none of us had any reason to hold grudges against one another. But everything was so strained and awkward after Alex and I fell out, eventually we all just... drifted apart.

We saw each other a year later at a charity event that we were both performing at. I talked to everyone _except_ him. I did my best to avoid him throughout the entire evening, telling myself that it was because I'd promised Natalie that I wouldn't spend time with him socially anymore. But in reality, I was just too proud to face him. I was sure that if he looked me in the eyes for even a second, he'd be able to see that his prediction had been spot on. I'd just "celebrated" my first wedding anniversary, and to the whole world I appeared to be happily married and the proud father of a beautiful, healthy baby boy.

But inside I felt like a prisoner who was just beginning a life sentence.

Alex tried to strike up a conversation with me after the concert, but I made some lame excuse to leave and walked away before he could get much further than "been a while, huh?"

And now, eight years later, here we are...

 

 


	35. Chapter 35

  


 

 

Alex stares at me, and Tommy stares at Alex.

And then Alex stares at Tommy, and Tommy stares at me.

And I'm just standing here like the clueless idiot I am, my eyes darting back and forth between the two of them while I try to think of something, _anything_ , to say to either one of them. I've been trying to prepare myself for this for weeks, trying to figure out some kind of opening line that I could use the first time I came face-to-face with Alex again. I was just kind of hoping that Tommy wouldn't be here when it happened, because it was already going to be ridiculously awkward.

But now Alex is here, and Tommy is here, and every last thing I'd thought of to say in this moment is escaping me completely.

"What're you doing here?"

A faint frown creases Alex's brow for a moment as he tries to figure out exactly what I'm asking him. "Uh... Zac invited me."

"No, I mean _here_ , in the pool house."

"Oh." He drops the t-shirt he's holding back into his duffle bag. "Zac told me-"

"Of course he did." I mutter to myself irritably, already thinking up many inventive ways to remove my younger brother's head from his body.

"Am I supposed to be somewhere else?"

"No, it's fine." Gesturing with a nod of my head for Tommy to follow me, I turn to leave the room. "Stay. Whatever."

"Tay..."

Despite the fact that it makes me feel like a total jerk, I ignore Alex's protests and walk away. I don't know why I'm being an ass to him, he hasn't done anything wrong. Yes, I was pissed off at him nine years ago, but I was pissed off at _everyone_ (myself more than anyone else). And now I'm holding on tight to this grudge, even though I don't _want_ to. I think maybe I'm afraid that letting him back into my life will be too dangerous for me. Having him around is like having a little devil on my shoulder or something. Not that he's ever encouraged me to do anything horribly bad or immoral, but he has a way of challenging me, making me do things I know I shouldn't without even really putting any effort into convincing me. And he never sugarcoats anything. He tells me what he honestly thinks, and he somehow always finds a way to make me to admit to feeling things I'd rather pretend I didn't. And then he tries to make me deal with those feelings. He tried to convince me to tell the whole fucking world who I really am and what I really want.

Like that's a luxury I've _ever_ had.

"Is that who I think it is?" I hear Tommy ask from somewhere behind me as I storm angrily out into the icy night air.

"Yes."

"Oh." It's not a surprised 'oh' or an angry 'oh'. It's not even a sad 'oh', it's just... a word. A sound with no emotion attached to it. "Did you know he was gonna be here?"

 I think he knows the answer to the question before he even asks it, he's just giving me the benefit of the doubt. Because for some stupid reason he still seems to be under the impression that I'm a decent human being. "Yeah, I knew."

"How come you never mentioned it?"

"I didn't know how." I admit ashamedly, finally coming to a standstill on the frost covered pathway between the main house and the pool house, keeping my eyes trained on the door we just walked through in case Alex decides to follow us and I have to make a run for it like the immature brat I am. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine..." He shrugs as though it's no big deal, but I get the feeling that it's not as fine as he says. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure? 'Cause you seem kinda completely pissed off."

I _am_ kinda completely pissed off, but not at Alex or his presence here. Not really. I'm pissed off because not only did Zac invite him to Fools Banquet for the sole purpose of making my life more difficult, but he then went and changed the sleeping arrangements around without telling me, after we'd all _agreed_ on where people would be staying. And he did it so that it would make it nearly impossible for Tommy and I to find any kind of alone time for the next five days.

And after spending the last two months away from him, I was counting on that alone time to keep me sane!

"I'll be okay." I assure him as convincingly as I can when I'm not entirely sure how convinced of it I am myself. "I just wish things weren't so fucking complicated all the time."

He nods in sympathetic understanding, his eyes still studying me and trying to figure out exactly what it is I'm feeling right now. "Are you gonna talk to him?"

"Zac?" I ask unthinkingly before realizing that, despite his best efforts, he can't read my mind and therefore isn't aware of the fact that my little brother is out to sabotage me for dumping him. "Oh, Alex?"

"Yeah. It was... tense back there."

Tense is an understatement. And the stupid thing is, there's no damn reason for things to be tense. Once again, I've managed to make things harder than they have to be simply by making a series of stupid choices. All I'd probably have to do to fix this is go back in there and apologize to Alex for being an asshole to him just now. But I can't seem to make myself actually _do_ it.

"I haven't seen him in almost eight years." I explain quietly, guiltily. "And I basically ignored him then, too."

"Because your wife wanted you to?" He asks, remembering the excuse I gave him for parting ways with Alex.

"Actually... that wasn't the real reason." I watch as Tommy draws in a long, slow breath. I can tell that he's preparing himself to hear the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and I know I owe him _at least_ that much. "Natalie _did_ tell me that she wanted me to stop hanging out with him. But he and I weren't even speaking by that point anyway."

"So what happened?"

"We had a fight about me marrying Nat. He told me it was a huge mistake and that I was going to regret it and I shouldn't do it, and I just... lost it. He was the only person I could really be honest with about who I was back then, so I kinda just dumped _everything_ I was feeling on him. I took it out on him because I couldn't handle it. I couldn't keep it all in anymore, it was killing me. But he didn't deserve it. It wasn't _him_ I was angry with, I was angry at myself and the whole situation. I wasn't yelling at him, I was yelling at me."

"Why didn't you just tell him that?"

"Because I was too proud and too stupid to admit that he was right and tell him I was sorry."

"Are you still too proud and stupid?" He asks with a faint smile on his lips.

Honestly? "I don't know."

I guess we've got five days to find out.

"So... the whole reason you guys fell out wasn't because of your wife asking you not to see him, it was because _he_ told you not to marry _her_?"

"There was more to it than that, but... basically, yeah."

He nods slowly, glancing back over his shoulder towards the pool house before lowering his gaze to the ground. I get the feeling I just said or did something wrong, but I'm not sure what. Story of my life.

"Do you think he was so against you marrying her because he wanted to be with you?" He eventually asks me, finally looking me in the eyes, searching for an honest answer.

" _No_." I can tell he doesn't believe me, despite the fact that he says "okay" and tries to force another smile. "Trust me, it wasn't like that for him."

"Was it like that for you?"

"No!"

"You can tell me if it was." He insists as nonchalantly as he can, shrugging for good measure. "It was years ago, we didn't even know each other back then."

"I know, but it's true. Things between me and Alex... they were never about that. We were good friends, and we cared about each other a lot, but it wasn't like we were in love or even really romantic or anything. It was just... sex."

Again, he nods. And again I get the feeling that he's not one hundred percent convinced. I don't know why, though, because it's not like I'm lying to him. Alex and I were close back then, but what we had doesn't compare to what I feel for Tommy now, it's not even in the same category of emotions.  But I guess I can't expect him to just take my word for it; I'm a liar. I lie to everyone _every single day_ of my life.  

Including him.

"It's freezing out here." I sigh, hoping that he's cold enough to ignore my very blatant (and failed) attempt at a segue. "Wanna go inside and grab something to eat?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

Just as I turn to go back into the main house, he grabs me by the sleeve of my jacket and pulls me back around to face him. He looks... conflicted. That's the only way I can think of to describe it. It's like he doesn't know what to believe or what to feel, he doesn't even know if he wants to say what he's about to say. And I can't help but feel responsible for leaving him so unsure of himself. So unsure of _me_.

"Is that it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... are there any more surprises? Is there anything else I should know?"

Is there anything else he should know? Other than the fact that this entire, awkward situation is the handy-work of my manipulative and scorned little brother, who I was in love with for half my life and slept with more times than I could ever attempt to count...

"Not that I can think of."

I hate lying to him. I _hate_ it. Lying is second nature to me, it's almost as easy as breathing, I've been doing it since I was a kid. I've never been able to be completely honest with anyone. But it has never felt so wrong to lie to another person as it feels to lie to him. It _hurts_ to look him in the eyes and tell him something that I know it's entirely true. Thankfully, I don't have to do it much; there isn't a whole lot that I feel I have to hide from him. But there is no doubt in my mind that if I ever told him about my relationship with Zac, he would want nothing to do with me. I would lose him.

I _can't_ lose him.

We walk into the kitchen side-by-side but haunted by a stifling silence. There's a bubble of panic lodged in my chest, slowly expanding and making it hard for me to focus on anything beside how terrified I am. I already feel like he's slipping away. Just in the last few minutes it's felt like some wedge has been driven between us, there's a distance that wasn't there before, not even when we were a thousand miles apart.

I'm pretty sure that this is _exactly_ what Zac was hoping would happen when he invited Alex here.

Just as we enter the room, Zac and Carrick walk in from the hallway. Because clearly the universe sensed that what I needed right now was _more_ emotional bullshit to wade through. Carrick smiles that insanely large smile of his, apparently oblivious to the somber atmosphere and my bad mood, and before I know it, he's got me wrapped in a tight hug.

"Long time, no see!"

"Hey, man, what's up?" I smile half-heartedly, hugging him back a little. "It feels like I haven't seen you in years."

He shakes his head, breathing what sounds like an exhausted chuckle. "Tell me about it. We never seem to be in the same place at the same time anymore, huh?"

"How's Austin?"

"He's doin' good, told me to say 'hey'."

"We need to get him out to one of these things someday." I note, feeling like an idiot for not thinking to invite him this year.

"Definitely."

"I was sorry to hear about Mikey."

He shrugs as though it's no big deal, but I can see that he's clearly bummed out about losing his band mate. " He needed to focus on studying and stuff, you know? I totally get that. I'm really proud of him for going back to school; he'd been wanting to for a while, he just wasn't sure he had it in him."

"Yeah..."

Suddenly the friendly chit-chat comes to a screeching halt, and all that remains is an awkward silence. It's almost like me and the guy I'm cheating on my wife  with versus Zac and the guy he once (twice, possibly more times than that, but I no longer care) cheated on me with. I'm pretty sure it was warmer outside in the snow than it is in here right now. I kinda wish we'd never come back inside.

"Oh, uh... Carrick, this is Tommy." I introduce them, thankful to have something to say to resuscitate the conversation. Although I hope Tommy doesn't think I'm dragging him to the center of attention just to break the silence. "He plays bass for Adam Lambert, but he's an _amazing_ guitarist, too."

"Awesome!" Carrick flashes that huge smile at him and holds out his hand to shake. "Nice to meet you."

Tommy nods, forcing the most sincere smile he can muster after the whole Alex debacle."Yeah, you too."

"Carrick is in a band called Everybody Else." I explain further, in a desperate attempt to keep the talking going so that the silence can't creep back in again. "We toured with them a few years ago."

"Cool. Whad'ya play?" Asks Tommy amiably while I busy myself with getting some beers.

I think alcohol will make everything easier.

"Kind of a little bit of everything." Carrick laughs softly, leaning against the counter near Tommy while they talk. "Not saying I'm necessarily _good_ at everything, but I'll attempt to play anything you put in front of me."

With the two of them apparently content to do the whole getting-to-know-you thing, I turn my attention to the contents of the fridge, desperately hoping that Ike put the Coronas and PBRs in here and not in the studio. Or worse, the pool house. Luckily I find case of each on the bottom shelf, and I eagerly tear into them. But I almost drop the drinks on the floor when I turn around and find myself practically pinned between the refrigerator and my little brother.

"You wanna back up a little? My ass is freezing." I mutter, still completely pissed at him for changing the sleeping arrangements without asking me first.

He takes a very small step back, just enough to give me room to move, but not enough to really let me get by him. "Alex is staying the pool house, just so you know."

"Yeah, I saw. Thanks for the heads up."

I notice his lip twitch, a tell tale sign that he is trying hard not to smile. Asshole. "I know Tommy was supposed to be sleeping in there, but when I was showing Alex around he just kinda made himself at home and I didn't have the heart to make him move."

"Oh, come on Zac. Give yourself a little more credit. We both know you had this planned from the start, it's the _only_ reason you didn't put up more of a fight when I said I wanted to let Tommy have the pool house this week."

"I'm _hurt_." He declares with a pout, placing his hand over his apparently wounded heart. "You really think I'd do something like that."

"Yeah, I really do."

Since he refuses to back the hell off, I don't feel like too much of an ass for using my shoulder to push him out of my way so that I can return to Carrick and Tommy. Thankfully they seem to be unaware of what just went on between Zac and I because they're getting on like a house on fire. Maybe that should bother me, considering the fact that Carrick fooled around with the last guy I was with. But in his defense, he didn't _know_ Zac and I were together (thank God), so it's hard for me to hold it against him.

Besides, I trust Tommy.

"Beer." I announce to them in my most convincing cheerful voice, doing my best to ignore Zac's withering stare. I can't see it, but I can sure as hell feel it. It's practically burning holes in my back.

"So where are all the other 'fools'?" Carrick inquires, glancing around the room in case maybe there are other people here and he somehow didn't notice them already. "Where's Ike?"

"Charlie's flight lands in about an hour, so he's gonna pick him up and come over then." Explains Zac, and I'm convinced that he's only putting his sulking on hold to be civil because it was Carrick who asked the question and not me or Tommy. "And I think the girls are upstairs."

"Guess again!" Meiko announces as she and Liz enter the kitchen together, apparently having already introduced themselves and become best friends. "Is this where the party's at?"

"It is now." Carrick grins at her charmingly, and even though she rolls her eyes at him and laughs his flirtatious comment off, she can't help blushing a little. "Sorry, that was incredibly cheesy."

" _S_ o cheesy." She nods in agreement. "But I forgive you."

"You guys want a drink?" I offer, already making my way over to the fridge again. "We have beer, wine, juice, water... coffee..."

"Beer for me, thanks." Replies Meiko cheerfully.

"Just water for me." Liz smiles, seeming almost shy about it. "I don't drink."

"Neither does Zac." Carrick nods over in his direction, offering him a playful wink. "You guys should start a club."

"Yeah, and if we did it'd be so freakin' awesome that you'd all be renouncing alcohol by the end of the night and just _begging_ to join." Zac informs him proudly, high-fiving Liz on his way past her as though they're old friends. I guess they've found something to bond over. Yay.

"Where're you going?" Asks Carrick as Zac heads for the door. "It's fucking freezing out there!"

Zac shoots a quick look my way, and I suppress the urge to glare at him because I know exactly what he's about to do. "I'm just gonna ask Alex if he wants a beer. I don't want him to think we forgot about him."

"Alex who?" Meiko questions curiously, raising her beer to her lips.

"Greenwald."

Liz's eyes practically bug out of her head at the mention of his name. "As in the lead singer of Phantom Planet?"

"That's the one." Zac affirms smugly, leaving me to deal with what appears to be a slightly over-excited fan-girl inhabiting Liz's body.

"Why didn't you tell me Alex Greenwald was going to be here?" She demands accusingly, smacking Tommy on the arm. "I _love_ Phantom Planet!"

"I didn't know." Tommy shrugs, downing an incredibly long mouthful of beer before placing what sounds like an empty can on the counter top behind him. "Anyone want another drink?"

"Uh... no, thanks." Laughs Carrick, holding up his Corona to show Tommy that he's barely had a few sips of it. "I'm still good."

We're all still good because none of us chugged our beers the way he just did. I feel like shit for putting him in this situation; I should have told him that Alex was coming weeks ago. I just couldn't find the words. I didn't know how to bring it up. What was I supposed to say? _'Hey, by the way, you know that song writing retreat that you already weren't sure you wanted to attend? Well my ex-fuck buddy is going to be there. That's not gonna be too weird for you, right?_ ' I know he would've pulled out of this whole thing if he'd known, and then I wouldn't have seen him until who knows when. I wanted him to come out here, I wanted to be with him sooner rather than later _._ I was stupid and selfish.

And now we're _both_ suffering for it.

 

 


	36. Chapter 36

  


 

 

Tommy is half way through his second beer of the evening when the casual conversation between Carrick, Liz and Meiko is interrupted by Zac and Alex walking into the kitchen. Zac, of course, looks pretty damn pleased with himself, but Alex looks like he'd rather be back in the pool house than in here with us. He forces a smile for the sake of everyone in the room who isn't me, but as soon as our eyes meet it falters. It's strange to see him so uncomfortable; usually Alex finds a way to fit in no matter what the situation. And if he can't, he has a well and truly perfected "fuck everyone, I'm fucking awesome" attitude that prevents him from caring.

"Look who I coaxed out of the pool house with the promise of beer." Zac smirks, nudging Alex a little further into the room before walking over to the fridge to fetch him a drink.

"Hey, man." Smiles Carrick welcomingly, offering Alex a nod of his head and a raise of his Corona bottle. "How've you been?"

"Busy, but good." He smiles back somewhat awkwardly, turning his attention to Meiko and Liz. "Hey, I don't think we've met..."

Meiko shakes his hand and introduces herself, appearing unfazed by his presence. Either she doesn't know who he is or she doesn't like his music enough to really care. Or maybe she just isn't easily star-struck. Or _maybe_ her demeanor just seems calm in comparison to Liz, who is so completely giddy that I can't help smiling in amusement as he takes her hand.

"I'm Alex."

"I know, I love you." She grins back at him before realizing what she said and blushing profusely. " I mean I love your music."

"Hey now, don't go back-tracking!" He teases flirtatiously. "You could break a man's heart doing that."

I happen to glance at Tommy just in time to catch him rolling his eyes at the whole exchange, and I can't help be feel a little troubled by his reaction. Is he rolling his eyes at the blatant flirting because it's Alex doing it... or because it's Liz on the receiving end? I guess it could go either way, it's not like he doesn't have reason to be anti-Alex. But what if that's not why he finds it so annoying? What if he's jealous because Liz is flirting with someone other than him for the first time since they got to Tulsa?

I don't really have time to dwell on it too much, because some part of my brain has decided to tune the chatter around me back in and interrupt my thoughts. Usually that only happens when someone says my name or talks directly to me, and since all eyes (except Alex's) are now on me, I'm assuming one or both of the above just happened.

"Sorry, I totally spaced... what were we talking about?"

"I just asked how you guys all know each other." Meiko tells me, gesturing to everyone in the room. "Zac was saying that you and Alex used to be inseparable."

 _Jerk_. "I wouldn't say _inseparable_..."

"Me either." Alex chimes in, an undeniable bitterness in his tone.

Great. Now he's pissed at me, too. "We were good friends."

"Yeah, we _were_."

No one else seems to pick up on his emphasis of the past tense, and his expression completely contradicts his accusing tone, so none of them appear to think twice about it. But I know he's angry at me for throwing our friendship away over one stupid fight that wasn't even really his fault. And I don't blame him; as always, I'm the one who fucked up. And he probably assumed that, after all this time, I would be willing to put it behind us and at least be civil to him, because what kind of asshole wouldn't be? But he came all the way out here and I'm _still_ treating him like something I stepped in, even though I should probably be begging for forgiveness right about now.

We all relocate to the family room once initial introductions are out of the way and everyone has a drink of some kind in their hand, and we spend the next hour or so talking and getting to know each other better. Although some of us do more talking than others (and some do more flirting that talking). I don't blame Tommy for being quiet; this is a shitty situation for him to be stuck in. And I don't blame Alex and Carrick for hitting on Liz and Meiko every five minutes like they're the last two cute girls on Earth. All four of them are single (or at least not married), why shouldn't they enjoy the playful back and forth that comes with being attracted to someone new?

I just wish that it didn't seem to bother Tommy so much.

I swear every time Alex talks to Liz, Tommy shifts in his seat like it's taking everything he has not to get up and punch Alex in the nose. And _every_ time she laughs at something funny Alex says, Tommy downs another mouthful of beer.

He's on his third already and most of us are still cradling our first empty bottles and cans of the night in our hands.

Eventually he leans over from his perch on the arm of the chair I'm sitting in and speaks to me for the first time in sixty minutes. But it's nothing I was hoping he'd say. "I'm pretty beat. I think I'm just gonna get some sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay... I'll show you where your room is." I offer, hoping that once we're alone we can talk about whatever it is he's feeling.

"It's okay, I don't want to pull you away from everyone. Just tell me where to head." He insists, making sure to raise his voice a little so that it's loud enough for everyone else in the room to hear.

It's a smart move on his part, because now that they're all paying attention, it'll look totally weird if I fight him on this instead of simply giving him directions to what was supposed to have been Alex's room and letting him leave.

I _hate_ this.

"Down the hall, up the stairs... second door on the left."

"Thanks."

I'm sure that to everyone else his smile looks entirely genuine, but I saw right through it. I can see the sadness in those dark brown eyes, and it hits me like a kick in the chest. He says goodnight and apologizes for ditching us in favor of sleep, and everyone tells him it was nice meeting him and they'll see him tomorrow. But before he has a chance to disappear from view completely Liz puts her drink down and excuses herself, hurrying over to him. I can't hear what they're saying, they're too far away, but she seems worried and he seems to be brushing her concern off. In the end she gives him a hug that makes every muscle in my body tense as though I'm preparing to attack, but they go their separate ways before I can do anything stupid like getting out of my chair and going over to intervene.

I seriously need to get my jealousy under control. He's allowed to hug his friends. Hell, he's allowed to do whatever he wants, including sleeping with other people. It's not like I can accuse him of cheating on me when I sleep with Nat all the time (I can't seem to avoid it).

Not long after Tommy leaves the room, Ike and Charlie show up carrying several different kinds of pizzas, and we all dig in gratefully as another, much briefer, round of who's who happens until Charlie is up to speed and everyone can finally put names to faces. They all seem to be getting along really well, which doesn't surprise me much because they're a great group of people. Besides, we've never had an issue with personalities clashing at Fools Banquet before. Music seems to be that one unifying force that can bring even the most different or hard headed of people together and keep them from killing one another.

I should know; it's how I've survived nearly twenty years in a band with my brothers without so much as maiming either one of them.

I manage to hold off on making an excuse to leave for another hour after dinner, but that's my limit. I can't just sit down here while he's up there alone, especially not when I know he's hurt. But I don't want anyone else to know that I'm going up to his room, because I don't necessarily plan on coming back down again until tomorrow morning...

This is going to require me to be even sneakier than usual.

"You know what, guys? I hate to break up the party but I think I'm gonna head home."

Isaac frowns, checking his watch to make sure it isn't later than he thinks it is. "Already?"

"Yeah, I'm totally wiped out."

"Well, we're aiming to get started at nine tomorrow." He reminds me in his big brother voice, because apparently he's under the impression that I'll forget.

"I know, I'll be here."

After wishing them all goodnight, I grab the only pizza box with any slices left in it off of the table, telling them it's breakfast, and then I make my way over to the hallway.

"Drive safe!" Carrick calls out to me, the same sentiments echoed by everyone else as I escape from the room and make a beeline for the front door.

I left my car parked in front of the house, so I need to move it out of sight before I do anything else, otherwise Ike and Zac will know I'm still here when they leave to go home later. Besides, I need them all to hear the front door close behind me anyway. Once I've got my car safely concealed in the darkness behind the studio, I sneak back over to the main house and quietly slip back inside, practically tiptoeing towards the stairs. I can hear talking and laughter drifting down the hall from the game room, and my mind carefully tries to dissect the noise, pinpointing individual voices so that I can be sure they're all still in there and no one is going to catch me.

For the first time all evening, luck is on my side. I make it up to Tommy's room without anyone seeing or hearing me, and I lightly tap on his door and hope that it was loud enough for him to hear. But either it wasn't or he's choosing to ignore it, because the door remains closed. If it wasn't for the fact that I can see light coming out from under the door, I would just assume that he really was tired and fell asleep already. I knock again, murmuring pleas under my breath for him to open the door. But he still doesn't. I should probably just give up and leave... but I can't! Not until I at least _try_ to talk to him.

I slowly turn the handle and begin to open the door, giving him ample opportunity to tell me to close it again before I even stick my head inside to see what he's doing. And when I see him, it's clear why he never responded to my knocking. His eyes are closed and he has ear buds in his ears, his iPhone slowly rising and falling on top of his chest with each breath he takes. For the first time all night, he looks peaceful. Content. So much so that I can't bring myself to ruin it. If lying up here alone, listening to music, is what he needs in order to feel okay right now, then the least I can do it let him have that.

But just as I'm turning to leave, he says my name and stops me in my tracks. "What's that?"

"Pizza." I open the box, just in case he needs visual proof that there's actual food inside. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks." There's a moment of quiet, and I can't think of anything to say to break it. "Where were you going just now?"

"I was just... I mean, you looked like you didn't want... so I..." Where did my ability to speak in full sentences go? "I don't want to disturb you."

He pushes himself up against the headboard until he's sitting, and then he carefully tugs the ear buds away from his ears. "Everything okay?"

"Well..." Closing the door quietly behind me, I step further into the room. "You tell me."

"What're you talking about?"

"You've been kinda off all night." I was expecting him to deny it, but he doesn't. He doesn't _admit_ to it, but his inability to maintain eye contact says it all. "Is it because I didn't tell you Alex would be here."

"No. I already told you I don't care."

"Okay, so then what's going on?" I press imploringly, taking another step towards him. "Are you jealous?"

"What?"

"Are you jealous?"

"Fuck no!" He snaps defensively, scowling at me like I just said the most insulting thing he's ever heard. "I don't get jealous, I'm not _that_ pathetic."

"Right. Of course not. Forgive me for implying something so ridicu-"

"Okay, fine, I was fucking jealous. Happy now?"

In what universe does he think that would make me _happy_?! "I'm ecstatic. Knowing that seeing another guy hitting on Liz makes you squirm in your seat is the best news I've had so far this year!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" He frowns in total bewilderment.

"Every time Alex so much as smiled at her tonight you practically flinched like it was causing you physical discomfort."

"I did not!"

"I _saw_ you! _Repeatedly._ "

He heaves a deep sigh, slumping back against the pillows as he rubs a hand wearily over his face. "Fuck."

Yeah, that just about sums it up. "So you like her... that's fine."

It's _so_ not fine, but what else am I supposed to say? I can't kick up a fuss about this; we've already established that I have no right.

"I don't like Liz, not like that."

"Tommy-"

"I _don't_." He insists so vehemently that I have little choice but to believe him. "It... it wasn't her, it was him."

Okay, now I'm lost. Is he saying that he has a crush on Alex and that was why he hated seeing him flirt with Liz? That doesn't make any sense! He doesn't even _know_ Alex. Not that Alex isn't a good looking guy, I'm sure plenty of people are attracted to him without ever talking to him (hell, _I_ was). But it still doesn't really add up.

"I don't understand."

"Whenever he hit on Liz..." Tommy sighs again, rolling his eyes before reluctantly mumbling. "I kept picturing him hitting on you."

Oh.

 _Oh_!

"So... you're saying that you're jealous because he hit on me nine _years_ ago?"

"It sounds fucking stupid when you put it like that, but... yeah, I guess."

It's probably wrong that I feel better now, and that I can't wipe the smile off of my face. Forget the fact that my fears of him being secretly attracted to Liz are now well and truly quelled, but he looks so freakin' cute when he's embarrassed. He can't look at me, he's _blushing_. I'm sure he'd be annoyed at me if he knew that I was finding this amusing, because clearly he feels like an idiot right now.

But how else am I really supposed to feel?

"Fuck you."

"I didn't say anything!" I exclaim, unable to keep the laughter out of my voice as I bravely approach the bed and set the pizza box down on the end of it. "I was just standing here!"

"Yeah, looking totally fucking pleased with yourself. _Asshole_."

Even though I know I'm pushing my luck (and risking bodily harm) by saying it, I can't stop myself from asking, "Has anyone ever told you that you're completely adorable when you're pissed off?" No sooner have the words left my mouth than his leg has left the bed and he's kicking me in the thigh. "Ow!"

"Think yourself lucky I didn't aim any further to the right."

The second I sit down on the edge of the bed, he places his feet against my hip and thigh, pushing as hard as he can, apparently trying to shove me onto the floor.  But after recovering from my initial loss of balance, I grab both of his feet in my hands and push back, climbing further onto the bed until eventually I end up collapsing on top of him as we both break down laughing.

"You're stronger than you look." He concedes, giving my thigh one last tap with his foot for good measure. "I kinda thought you'd fight like a girl."

"No, that was _you._ "

"Seriously, _fuck_ you."

"Anytime you're ready." I grin down at him playfully, earning myself an eye roll and a smirk. "Have I mentioned yet that I missed you?"

He shakes his head slowly, his smile gradually morphing from mischievous to moved. "Nope."

"Oh." He holds my steady gaze as I lower my mouth to his, kissing him tenderly before whispering against his lips "I missed you."

"Ditto."

It's hard to resist telling him in great detail exactly what I've missed about him as I take my time reacquainting myself with the body I've been longing to be this close to for months now. When I kiss my way down his neck, when my finger tips trail over the warm, smooth skin of his stomach, when I listen to him gasp and groan, I want to tell him how badly I've missed each one of those things. I've missed every inch of him, everywhere that my lips and hands can possibly touch. I've missed every little sound he makes, I've missed the way he smells, the way he tastes, the way he moves, the tiny flecks of caramel in his coffee brown eyes...

In fact, I've missed it all so much that I fully intend to drag this out for _hours_ if I can. I'm not going to be ready to let go of him again anytime soon.

It's way past midnight when we finish off the cold pizza to regain the strength we expended having hot sex. But once both of those hungers have been satisfied, he passes out like someone slipped him a sedative. I, on the other hand, am wide awake and unable to keep my mind from running in circles long enough for me to find relief from the exhaustion of it all.

I can't stop thinking about Alex.

Not like _that_.

I just don't know how this week is supposed to work if we're barely on speaking terms. Zac and I can work together when we're mad at each other because we have years of practice, but Alex and I don't have that. So God help the poor soul who might end up stuck in a group with us, _especially_ if it's Tommy.

Maybe I should just bite the bullet and apologize right now.

Hopefully it's not too late for that. He seemed willing to talk to me when we first saw each other tonight, perhaps if I go over there and tell him that I'm sorry for being a total jerk he'll be willing to give me a second chance.

With a great deal of effort, I manage to disentangle myself from Tommy's sleeping form and slip out from under the sheets without waking him. And the second I look down at him, all I want to do is get right back into bed and wrap myself around him again. I seriously don't know, don't _understand_ , how the hell I got so lucky. I don't think I've done anything particularly spectacular in this life, and I'm not sure I believe in past lives, so how I scraped together enough good karma to have someone like him give me the time of day is a mystery to me.

I just hope I can figure out a way to avoid screwing it up the way I screw up everything else.

It's quiet downstairs as I creep along the hallway, constantly ready to hide in the shadows at the first sight (or sound) of another person. But apparently everyone went to bed, because there's no one else down here. I guess that means there's a good chance that Alex is already asleep, and waking him up is just going to give him one more valid reason to hate my guts. But on the other hand, maybe our tattered relationship is making it just as difficult for him to fall asleep. Maybe he wants to talk things out, too.

I'm hoping that's the case as I let myself into the pool house and make my way through the darkness until I reach the bedroom door. I can't hear any sounds coming from inside, and it doesn't look like there's a light on, either, but I knock gently anyway. And barely ten seconds later the door opens and I find myself standing in front of a half-naked Alex Greenwald.

"Taylor?" He flips a nearby switch on, flooding the room with a bright light that leaves us both squinting for a moment. "I thought you went home hours ago."

"Yeah..." Not so much. "I uh... I came back. I couldn't sleep."

"Makes two of us." He sighs tiredly, passing me on his way over to the kitchenette. I follow him at a distance, watching as he grabs a glass out of one of the cupboards and fills it with water. "I'm guessing the same thing is to blame for your insomnia as mine?"

Yeah. _Me_. "Probably."

"So... you're here to talk about it?"

"Yeah." If he'll let me.

With a slow nod of acknowledgement, he settles himself onto one of the bar stools and fixes me with an incredibly focused (and somewhat intimidating) stare. "Where do you wanna start?"

"Well... the beginning's as good a place as any, I guess."

"True."

"I'm sorry." Saying the words out loud to him feels _so_ much better than I ever thought it would. It's literally as though a weight is lifted from my shoulders, something that I've been carrying around with me for the last nine years is _finally_ gone. It feels so good that I can't stop myself from saying it again. "I'm sorry for what I said to you the last time we talked, I'm sorry I yelled at you the way I did and walked out on you, and I'm sorry I ignored you at LifeBEAT, and I'm sorry I never called or texted or e-mailed or _anything_ at any point over the last eight years. And I'm sorry for how I treated you tonight, I was a total dick to you and you didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve _any_ of it. So I'm just... I'm _so_ sorry, Alex. For _all_ of it."

 _God_ that felt good!

"Are you done?" He asks, seemingly unimpressed with my apology. Apparently it didn't repair as much damage as I was hoping.

"Um... y-yeah."

"Good." After downing what's left of the water in his glass, he sets it on the bar and takes a breath. "First of all, I don't want your apology. Or apologies, I guess. Whatever." He rolls his eyes dismissively, brushing the technicalities aside as the weight begins to descend back onto my shoulders. "You have nothing to apologize for." Wait... what? "Secondly, _I'm_ sorry. I was an asshole, I shouldn't have said any of the dumb shit I said when you told me you were getting married. I was a crappy friend, I wasn't there for you, I didn't even try to be-"

"No, Alex-"

"Wait, let me finish." He insists firmly. "I've been waiting nine fucking years to get this out."

"Okay..."

"I was wrong." No, he wasn't. "Clearly, I was wrong. I mean, look at you. You've been married this whole time, you've got like a freakin' _herd_ of kids who're cute as hell. You're happy. I didn't think you could make this work, but you're doing it. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. I should've been more supportive. Maybe if I had been, you would've invited me to this thing yourself instead of Zac having to manipulate the shit out of both of us just to get us in the same fucking room."

He's got the part about Zac manipulating us both right, he just has the reason completely wrong. And that's not the only things he's got wrong. Just because I've managed to stay married for nearly ten years doesn't mean my marriage is a success. He might be surrounded by pictures of my adorable kids and my beautiful wife, and I might be wearing a smile in each and every one of them, but that doesn't mean I'm honestly happy.

And I want to tell him that _so_ badly.

But I don't.

"I'm glad you're here."

Alex smiles, and I can't _not_ smile back at him because I'd forgotten just how out of control his smile is and how _good_ it feels to see it. "Me too."


	37. Chapter 37

  


 

 

After spending the next couple of hours trying to catch each other up on everything noteworthy that's happened in our lives since we last really talked, Alex and I eventually passed out on the leather couch in the pool house.  It wasn't my intention to fall asleep, especially not there, but it had been one hell of an exhausting day up until that point and I couldn't fight it any longer.

It's after four am when I finally open my eyes again, and for a moment it's entirely confusing to have Alex be the first thing I see. A few hours ago we weren't even on speaking terms, and now we're napping together. It's a little more than a lot to take in. If that even makes any sense.

It probably doesn't; not much in my life really does at this point.

I feel bad leaving him to sleep in one of the most uncomfortable looking positions imaginable, but I also don't want to wake him. When I came over here to talk to him he seemed to be having trouble getting to sleep, so maybe a sore neck tomorrow morning (or later this morning, I guess) is a small price to pay for a few hours of uninterrupted unconsciousness. I, on the other hand, have other places I'd rather be.

I just hope that, when I get there, Tommy isn't awake and aware of the fact that I snuck out on him in the middle of the night to see my 'ex'.

The house is eerily quiet as I creep back through the dark hallways and up the stairs. I almost feel like a teenager all over again, I definitely haven't tiptoed around in the dark this way since I was a kid afraid of getting caught by my parents. It's pretty ridiculous, really. I'm a grown man sneaking around like a naughty child. Only it's not my parents that I afraid of waking up, it's a bunch of musicians who I greatly respect and who would probably lose all respect for _me_ if they caught me slinking into the bedroom of a ridiculously pretty bass player in the middle of the night.

Thankfully, the aforementioned ridiculously pretty bass player appears to be sound asleep when I carefully let myself back into his room and undress as quietly as I can before slowly making my way over to the bed. It takes me at least an entire minute to actually get back onto the bed and settle under the comforter; I'm so afraid of disturbing him that I barely put any weight on the mattress until the last possible second. And of course, as soon as I do so, he rolls over.

I can see him looking at me, even though my eyes are still adjusting to the darkness and I can hardly see anything else at all. I think I'd somehow be able to see those eyes even if I was completely blind. And I can tell that he's been awake for a while now. He knows I left.

"Where'd you go?" He finally asks, never blinking those deep brown eyes of his for even a second.

As worried as I am about how he's going to react to the truth, I'd rather deal with that than lie to him. Despite the fact that I'm more honest with him than anyone else in my life at this point, I still feel as though I keep the truth from him too often. "I went to talk to Alex."

"You went to _talk_ to Alex?" He questions, apparently unconvinced that talking is what actually took place. "It's like four am."

"Yeah... well... it was a little after midnight when I went over there."

"Long talk."

Again, I have the opportunity to lie to him. It would just be a little white lie, a simple 'yes'. But I can't bring myself to do it. "Not exactly. We talked for a while, then we kinda... fell asleep."

"Both of you?"

"...Yeah."

There's a pause, those unblinking eyes fixed suspiciously on my face. "Together?"

"Yes." I reply simply, feeling him draw in a deep breath rather than hearing him do it. "I know it sounds bad, but it wasn't like that. We were talking, and we were both really tired, and... we just fell asleep."

He watches me closely for several seconds longer before languidly rolling onto his back and fixing his stare on the ceiling instead. I feel as though I should be relieved to no longer having him studying me so closely, seeking out reasons to mistrust me, but I don't. I feel worse now than I did with his eyes on me.

"I swear that's _all_ that happened."

"I believe you."

For someone who believes me, he doesn't seem very happy about it. "If that's true, why do I get the feeling that you're still mad?"

"Because I am."

" _Nothing_ happened. We just talked and slept, that's it, I swear!" Maybe it's wrong to assume that his lack of a response is a sign of doubt, but I can't help it! I don't know how else to interpret it. "I'm sorry I went over there without telling you, I just wanted to try and smooth things over with him so that the rest of this week wasn't as awkward as tonight was. That's _all_."

"I just said I believe you." He repeats glumly, irritably.

"So then why are you mad at me?"

"I'm _not_ mad at you."

Okay, now I'm lost. "But you just said-"

"I'm mad at myself."

"For what?" I ask quietly, shifting a little closer to him on the bed but feeling him tense immediately when I wrap my arm around his waist. "What's wrong?"

"I am." He mutters, his tone indicating that he's obviously displeased and more than a little resentful. But again, I can't tell if I'm the one he resents. "This isn't me, this isn't who I am."

"What're you talking about?"

"When I woke up and you weren't here, I wondered where you'd gone. I wondered if you'd gone home or if you were with him-"

"I'm sorry. I know I should've told you first, but-"

He sighs, practically shrugging my arm away from his body. "I don't _want_ you to be sorry, Taylor. That's not the fucking point."

"Then what _is_ the point? I have no clue what you're trying to say!"

"I'm trying to say that I've spent the past three fucking hours _wondering_. Just lying here in the dark, alone, wondering where you are and who you're with and what you're doing. I've been obsessing over it, and that's not me! _I_ don't do shit like that. I don't fucking get jealous, I don't care if the person I'm seeing stays friends with their exs, I don't care because I'm not some needy, insecure asshole who stays awake all night worrying about crap like that!"

"So... you're saying that you're mad at yourself because you were worried that I was fooling around with Alex?" I ask cautiously, nervous that if I'm getting this all wrong it'll just piss him off more, and then he's going to be mad at me, too.

"I'm saying that I'm mad at myself because I _knew_ you weren't fooling around with Alex, but for some stupid, fucked up reason I _still_ couldn't stop thinking about it. I know it's over, I know you guys weren't ever anything serious, but no matter how many times I told myself that, it was like I couldn't hear it. I couldn't fucking hear myself think over all of the stupid, jealous _noise._ And that's _not_ me. I'm not irrational, I don't freak out over nothing, I don't act like a fucking fool for..." It's as if my entire body is frozen, on alert, waiting for him to say that all important word that only one of us has said so far. "Anyone."

My body deflates in disappointment, and I try not to feel rejected even though it's difficult to avoid it. I don't want him to say it if he's not ready to, and I _definitely_ don't want him to say it if he doesn't even feel it. But I'd be lying if I said that it doesn't hurt to wonder if this means more to me than it does to him. The more time that passes between my "I love you" without him returning the sentiments, the harder it is to convince myself that he feels the same.

And that fact is more than a little terrifying to face.

"Guess it's just me then." I murmur in a very weak attempt to make a joke.

Maybe he's not some over-anxious, crazy jealous, unreasonable, self-conscious freak of nature... but I am. Especially when it comes to him. Which is stupid, because I'm _so_ sure of my feelings for him. I'm more certain about how feel about thim than I have been about anything in such a long time. He makes me feel like myself. More than that, he makes me feel like it's _okay_ to be myself. But I think I'm so afraid of losing him, or of him leaving me, that it's impossible for me to just relax and enjoy it. So I constantly question _everything_ until I drive myself insane.

"It _is_ just you." He finally sighs, rolling back onto his side so that he can look at me in the _very_ early morning light. And the second our eyes meet again, I finally understand that he's notsaying that I'm alone in the way I feel about him. He's telling me the exact opposite. "I've seriously never been like this over anyone else, _ever._ I never wanted to be, I hate it."

How am I supposed to responded to that? "I'm sorry I make you so miserable."

" _You_ don't." He asserts, obviously frustrated with his inability to make himself clear (or maybe my inability to understand him). "It's like how I feel about you is completely separate from all of this bullshit, even though I know it's all the same thing."

"You mean I make you happy _and_ miserable in almost equal measures?"

"No. I mean..." He heaves a long, tired sigh, taking a moment to try to find the right words. "I mean that you make me happy, and... reality makes me miserable."

"Does that mean you don't consider this reality?"

"I guess." Great. I was actually kidding, but okay. Good to know. "Well it's not, is it?"

"I kind of thought it was. I mean... what else is it supposed to be? It's happening, it's _real_ , isn't that what reality is?"

"If you wanna get totally literal, then yeah." He offers me a faint, sad smile, but I can't seem to find the will to return it.

After I went to visit him in December, after everything that happened during my stay,  I thought that things had changed, that we were on the same page. We were in this, together, and we weren't trying to deny that it meant something. But now it sounds a lot like he's ready to go back to living in denial about it all, so where does that leave me?

Out there on that limb by myself, I guess.

Again.

"All I'm saying is that...  you live here. You're married, you have kids, and the whole world thinks you're straight. Well... almost the whole world. And if they found out you weren't, it would actually _ruin_ lives. And that's your reality. I live a thousand fucking miles away. I'm single, I'm childless, and the whole world is in constant disagreement over my sexual orientation. But at the end of the day it doesn't fucking matter if I'm gay or straight or bi or _whatever_. It doesn't really make any difference to anyone who I choose to sleep with. That's my reality. And... I don't really see how those two realities fit together."

Because they don't.

"Is this you trying to break up with me again?" I ask uncertainly, trying to suppress the ever expanding ball of dread in my stomach.

If the next words out of his mouth are something along the lines of "we can't break up, we're not really together", I think my head might explode.

"No, this is me trying to be honest. I'm just trying to explain why I'm mad at myself." Maybe I wasn't paying close enough attention this whole time, because God help me, I _still_ don't fucking know what he's mad at himself for. "I hate that I _know_ how pointless this whole thing is, but I can't make myself do anything about it. And I'm pissed at myself because I hate how I feel and how I behave as a result of it. I hate being the reason you cheat, I hate lying to my friends, I hate being stupid and insecure and clingy and _jealous_. So goddamn jealous that I hated Alex before I ever met him just because he fucked you ten years ago, and I hate the guy you were with before we met because you loved him, and I can't even _stand_ the thought of you fucking your own damn wife. I hardly ever get angry, I just don't, it's not how I am, but I swear to God the idea of you being with her makes me want to _break_ things. And it happens _all_ the fucking time. At least once every damn day I think about how she's probably kissing you or touching you or trying to get you to fucking knock her up again, and it makes me _so_ angry! I hate that she gets to be with you all the time and I don't. We get to see each other for a couple of days every few months, and it's not enough. But I can't fucking complain because I know I don't even have a right to that much of you. I have _no_ goddamn right to take that time away from her and from your kids... and sometimes I feel like I'd give up every-fucking-thing I have to change that, to change _everything_. I hate sharing you with them, because I know what it's like to have you to myself and _that's_ what I want. That's _all_ I want. But I know I can't have it, so I'm willing to take any tiny fucking shred of your time I can get. It makes me feel like a fucking crack addict or something, it's pathetic! Most of the time I'd sell whatever's left of my soul just to have you inside me, and I _hate_ it! I _hate_ being this person. But I just... I can't stop." ... Wow. "And now I've gone and reached a new level of pathetic by fucking _saying_ all of that to your face. _Fuck_."

I have no idea what I'm supposed to say to that. And I have no idea how I'm supposed to _feel_ about  it, either. On the one hand, it's the closest he's ever come to telling me how he really feels about me. He may not have used the 'L' word, but everything he _did_ say essentially amounts to that. It was possibly even more meaningful than a simple "I love you". But I can't be happy about it because I feel too wretched. It's impossible not to; he basically just told me that this relationship makes his life hell, makes him feel lonely, and turns him into someone he can't stand being.

And I understand _everything_ he's feeling completely, because I feel it all, too.

"I'm sorry."

He groans, raking his fingers through his hair in pure frustration. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't want you to be sorry before you stop apologizing?"

"Well, what the hell else do you want me to do, Tommy? You're miserable and it's _my_ fault. You just said I make you feel weak, and pathetic, and insecure, and-"

"I _never_ said you make me feel any of that stuff." He cuts me off insistently. "I said I feel it, I didn't say it was your fault. The only thing I said _you_ make me feel is happy."

"Right. Underneath all of the loneliness and the confusion and feeling like a crack addict, I'm sure you're fucking _euphoric_."

Again, that gentle, melancholy smile graces his lips. "Believe it or not."

I wish I could believe him, I want to believe that I make him feel something besides pain. And really, I should be able to accept that it's possible for him to feel something wonderful alongside all of the awful things he just listed off, because I do. I feel like the worst person in the world most days, I despise myself for what I'm doing to my family _and_ what I'm putting him through. But nothing bad can touch me when I'm with him, whether we're really together or just talking on the phone. It's like being safely contained in this bubble of bliss where real life can't touch us. It's just me and him, and everything is okay.

"It's not you. Nothing _you_ do makes me feel shitty. If it was just me and you, it wouldn't matter, I wouldn't feel like this. But it's everything else, all the other stuff..." He shakes his head faintly, his gaze drifting from mine and settling on the small space between us. "I just... wish things weren't so fucking complicated all the time."

"Me, too."

 _So_ much.

I wasn't planning on letting myself fall asleep again. Not here, at least. I was going to sneak back in, pretend I never left, wake Tommy up just enough to tell him that I had to go home so no one would catch me sneaking out in the morning, and then leave. But I can't leave. Not now, not after everything that's just been said. It would be a slap in the face for me to let him bare his heart to me and then brush it aside and walk away like it's no big deal. Besides, I don't _want_ to go. I know it's stupid and reckless, and if anyone realizes I spent the night here it could raise some very difficult to answer questions.

But I'll just have to come up with some plausible answers, because I'm staying.

How can I not stay? How can I give up any little chance to be with him when it's all either of us has wanted for months? How can I get out of this bed when his body molds against mine so seamlessly, and my arm fits around his waist so snugly, and his legs curl against mine so easily, leaving no room between us whatsoever. It feels so comfortable, so natural, and he seems perfectly content to just let me hold him. I kind of love that (and everything else) about him. Looking at him, most people wouldn't think he'd be someone who would enjoy 'snuggling', let alone allow themselves to be the 'snugglee' rather than the 'snuggler'. But nothing could be further from the truth. I love that he's not what he seems, that he can't be pigeon-holed, and that you can't figure anything out about him simply by looking at him. And I love that I know who he really is, that he lets me _see_ him. I love that he shares parts of himself with me that I know he keeps hidden from the rest of the world. I love the fact that he feels safe enough with me to do that, that he knows I wouldn't betray his trust. And I love that I can do the same with him, that I can show him sides of myself and tell him truths about myself that I've kept locked away from everyone else my whole life because I was too afraid of what they would think. But he no matter what I tell him, he never thinks less of me.

Somehow, by some incredible stroke of luck or twist of fate, he's still here; he still wants to be as close to me as he can get.

 


	38. Chapter 38

  


 

 

Even though my decision to stay in Tommy's bed last night was a deliberate and conscious one, made with full knowledge and understanding of the potential consequences I might face should I get caught, I still wind up having a _minor_ freak out over it when I wake up the next morning. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. He was so warm, and his skin was so smooth, and he'd just said all of these amazing things to me that made it impossible for me to even think about leaving him there alone. So I figured that I'd just sneak out this morning instead, and _hopefully_ make it downstairs without being seen. And also hope that no one noticed that I was wearing the exact same clothes as I was yesterday. If I was lucky, maybe I'd even be able to duck into a bathroom and freshen up quickly.

It didn't seem like _that_ big a deal!

But here we are, at eight-thirty am (because I was too lazy and stupid to set the alarm on my phone), and I can hear everyone else walking around out in the hall, going in and out of bathrooms and bedrooms as they get ready for the day ahead. They're all so cheerful, greeting each other excitedly like it's Christmas morning or something. Because none of them have to worry about getting caught doing the walk of shame.

At least, I'm pretty sure none of them do.

I don't even _like_ that term; it implies I did something that I'm ashamed of, and I didn't. I probably should be ashamed, but I'm not. Regardless, I don't want to get caught coming out of this room. But I'm not sure how I'm going to avoid it now that everyone else is awake and milling around the house. I've left myself cornered.

"What're you doing?" Tommy yawns, frowning at me and stretching lazily across the bed as I finish zipping up my jeans.

"I'm embarking on 'Mission: Morning After Sneak Out'." I inform him distractedly, scanning the floor for my t-shirt. "Unfortunately it's already experiencing complete and epic failure due to lack of clothing."

"Just grab something out of my bag."

"None of your shirts would fit me; you're a twig."

Despite my anxiety, I can't help smiling to myself as he laughs and tosses a pillow at my back. "Fuck you! I'm meaty _and_ delicious!"

"I never said you weren't." I assure him, carrying the pillow back over to the bed with me and climbing onto the mattress again. Because that'll definitely help with the whole 'getting dressed' thing I was working on. "You're like... a taquito." His jaw drops in outrage, bringing a smug smirk to my lips. "Hot and tasty goodness wrapped up in a stick thin package."

"Yeah? Well you're not getting anywhere near my 'package' if you don't stop comparing me to dead bits of tree and Mexican food!"

 "I'm just trying to explain why I can't wear your t-shirts!" I chuckle softly, kissing his bare chest simply because I can and I never get tired of doing it. "It'd be like trying to squeeze a burrito into a taquito. No bueno!"

"Thanks. Now I'm never gonna be able to look at Mexican food the same again."

My lips continue trailing their way down to his belly button as I smile contentedly against his skin. "Then my work here is done."

"Uh, hell _no_ it's not." He retorts, placing his hand on the top of my head and pushing it down about six inches, leaving me laughing so loudly that I'm sure if anyone is still out in the hall they probably heard it.

But it's difficult to care.

The bed sheets are still covering him, _barely_ , but his erection is impossible to miss. Especially since it's practically poking me in the nose! I hear him inhale an unsteady breath as I lower my mouth to it, kissing him lightly through the thin layer of cotton. He lets out a little noise, a whimper, a _plea_ , it sends a shiver down my spine that almost makes me whimper right along with him. But as badly as I want to give him what he's so desperate for (and then some), I also kinda want to tease him a little first. So I kiss him again, a little less gently than last time, and then again, letting my lips linger until it makes him so impatient that he bucks against my mouth. That movement also shifts the sheets out of the way, eliminating the barrier between us. I'm pretty sure that it was unintentional on his part, but I can tell from the longing look in his eyes that he wants me to take full advantage of it (and him).

He gasps softly, immediately grasping a fistful of my messy hair as my tongue languidly journeys up the length of him, and his body shudders along with the breath he exhales when I hungrily take him into my mouth, moaning in satisfaction at the taste of him.

 _Fuck_ , I forgot how much I enjoy doing this to him.

I wish I could do it every morning; I'd seriously give up coffee if I could make this my morning ritual instead.

And I fucking _love_ coffee!

"You're _so_ goddamn good at this..." He practically hums, his hips effortlessly rising to meet each lazy bob of my head. "Fuck this songwriting bullshit, let's just stay in here."

"Mmm..." Yes please. "Works for me."

When there's a knock on the door, I feel his body tense just like mine, but his grip on my hair only tightens. "Don't stop."

I had no intention of it.

But when the second knock is accompanied by Liz's voice, it's a little difficult for either of us to ignore it. "Tommy? Are you up?"

He practically growls in frustration, taking a breath to steady his voice before calling out a reply. "Yup, definitely."

"Well are you coming or not?"

"Good fucking question." He mutters to himself as I cover my mouth to contain a giggle. "I'll be there in a minute!"

"Okay!"

"A _minute_?" I question with a quirked eyebrow. "Do you want this done fast or do you want it done right?"

"I want it done. _Period_." He snickers, grabbing me by the back of the head and all but pushing my face into his crotch. "As you were."

God, I love him. "Asshole."

I'm pretty sure I don't succeed in getting him off within the sixty second time limit he gave me, but he doesn't seem too bothered about it. Unfortunately, as soon as it's over, I have nothing to distract me from the anxiety attack I had on hold this whole time. I just have to hope that everyone is already gathered in the office downstairs, that way no one will know that I was here all night. I can slip out, re-park my car, and then come back in and pretend I just got here!

"Ready?" He asks as he drops his eyeliner pencil back into his makeup bag and turns to face me, and if I'm not mistaken, there's a definite hint of worry in his tone.

"As I'll ever be."

"Do you wanna go first?"

"No, you go. If everyone's down there and away from the front door, text me that it's all clear." He nods, making sure to grab his phone off of the nightstand and put it in his pocket. "If anyone besides one of my brothers tries to leave the room before I come in, try to distract them and get them to stay for a minute. If you can't, text me again."

"Got it."

Even though he smiles at me one last time before stepping out into the hallway, I can see the sadness in his eyes. And I know exactly why it's there without having to ask him. He told me why last night. It's because of how complicated this all is. It's because we have to hide from everyone, and he has to text me the all clear, and I have to move my car out from behind the studio and re-park it in the driveway. It's all so fucking stupid.

But it's also necessary.

A few minutes later, I get the text to let me know that it's safe for me to leave the bedroom, and I cautiously make my way through the house and out into the driveway. Ike and Zac's cars are already parked in front of the garage, which means I'm definitely  going to be the last to arrive and will probably receive a lot of crap for it. But I'd rather get bitched at for showing up ten minutes later than we agreed on than get bitched at for being careless enough to spend the night with Tommy in a house full of our friends and peers.

Sure enough, the second I step into the office, Isaac scowls at me like they've all been waiting for hours. "I thought we said nine?"

"It's only nine-fifteen." I shrug dismissively, trying (and failing) to avoid making eye contact with Tommy. It was a dumb thing to do, because now I'm thinking about what we just did, and I can't look anyone else in the face while that's on my mind, which makes me look incredibly guilty. Because I _am_ incredibly guilty. "Did you figure out the initial groups yet?"

"No, we were waiting for you." He points out, clearly expecting me to start apologizing any second now.

But since they were all laughing and talking happily when I walked in, and no one (besides him) looked even a little annoyed by my absence, I'm not feeling very compelled to be apologetic. "Well, I'm here. Let's get started!"

"Weren't you wearing that yesterday?" Zac pipes up just as I grab the whiteboard marker and pull the cap off.

Great.

What the hell is he trying to prove now? "Yeah. And?"

"Were you out all night or something?"

Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ "No, I just... I was..."

"He crashed in the pool house." Alex says unexpectedly, drawing everyone's attention to him. And when my eyes meet his, I can see that he _knows_ I'm trying to hide something. He knows I did something I don't want anyone else in the room to know about. I don't know _how_ he can still see right through me after all these years, but if it means he's willing and able to help me keep secrets he's not even privy to, I'm glad he can. "We were catching up, and it got kinda late, so he just stayed."

"But I thought you left." Zac continues to prod, apparently determined to show me up in front of everyone. "You said you were going home."

"I couldn't sleep, so I came back." I reply as coolly as possible. "Are we done playing twenty questions or do you wanna know what I had for breakfast, too?"

The mood is now sufficiently awkward, but thankfully he seems to be done harassing me about my whereabouts last night. And Isaac gladly jumps on the chance to change the topic back to the real reason we're all here.

"Okay, so, since the three of us _obviously_ need a day off from each other," He laughs uncomfortably, and Carrick and Alex (the only people present who truly know how bad the three of us can get with each other) both snort in amusement. "We're gonna be kind of like the 'team captains', I guess. So there'll be three groups, and each of us will be in a different one."

Thank God.

I quickly draw three columns on the white board and label them group one, two and three before scribbling our names into each one. "Have you guys got everyone else's names ready?"

"Got 'em right here." Ike nods, holding up a tambourine filled with little pieces of folded up paper. "Wanna do the honors?"

"Sure." I take a deep breath, reaching into the tambourine and silently praying that I end up with Tommy. Which is why my heart sinks a little when I unfold the piece of paper and see someone else's name scrawled on it. "Liz."

_Awesome._

Ike and Zac both take their turns picking names, ending up with Meiko and Carrick, which gives me renewed hope when it comes time to choose my second name out of the hat (or tambourine).

"Tommy." I announce enthusiastically, doing my very best not to grin too widely as I add his name to the board beneath mine and Liz's.

But thanks to Liz's insistence on welcoming the newest addition to our group by practically _snuggling_ with him, it's actually pretty easy for me to keep my smile under control.

Once Alex has joined Zac's group and Ike recruits Charlie, each group is assigned a 'work area' for the day, somewhere separate from the other groups so that we all have privacy and can hear ourselves think (and play) well enough to write a song. Zac's group ends up in the pool house, Ike's in our studio, and Liz, Tommy and I remain in the main house, which is fine by me because it means we get the grand piano.

It's always a little strange writing songs with people you've never worked with before, especially if you also barely know them. Everyone has their own technique, their own starting point, their own ways of finding inspiration, and those methods don't always match up. But that's the whole point of Fools Banquet; it's about learning how to work with other people, and learning new ways of doing things, and ultimately creating music that you probably never would have come up with outside of that artistic petri dish.

I just hope that I can get over my jealousy long enough to write a song.

I know I have nothing to worry about, especially after the heart-to-heart I had with Tommy last night. I _know_ he wants me, not her or anyone else. But I also know that she wants him, at least a little, and for some stupid reason that makes me feel incredibly insecure. I guess this is what Tommy was saying, about knowing that nothing was going on with me and Alex but not being able to rationalize that in his own mind because the jealousy was too damn loud.

"So where should we start?" Asks Liz eagerly, plucking at the strings of the bass guitar resting across her leg.

"How do you usually start when you're writing a song?"

"Well... I guess most of the time I tend to have like a general idea for a song, and I try to build the music around it."

"Same." I nod in agreement, doodling in the corner of the legal pad that's balancing on my knee. "Or sometimes I'll get an idea for a chorus or a melody or something in my head, and I just go from there."

"What about you?" She asks Tommy with a bright smile, but he just laughs softly, shyly, and shakes his head.

"I don't really do lyrics at all, so for me it's all about just messing around until I find a sound that feels good, and just trying to like... build on it and see where it goes. But I'm up for anything."

He probably didn't mean for that last part to sound suggestive, but it did to me because I can make almost anything he says seem more sexual in my head than he ever could have possibly intended for it to be. Except that, judging by the playful smirk he just cast my way, I think that maybe this time he really did do it on purpose.

How am I supposed to focus if he's going to spend all day trying to get a rise out of me? _Literally_.

"Do you have any ideas you wanted to throw out there?" Liz asks me, pulling my gaze away from Tommy's lips (which is probably for the best). "I'm kinda drawing a blank right now."

I didn't really have any specific ideas that I was planning to throw out there today. But as I tap my pen against the edge of the pad and try to come up with something to suggest, I start to see an opportunity I didn't even realize was there.

"Well... actually, I do have this one idea that's been rattling around in my head."

"Awesome!" She grins excitedly, sitting up a little straighter in her seat and giving me her full attention. "What is it?"

"I've always really liked songs that kinda... sound like they're about one thing, but they're really about the exact opposite."

Both Liz and Tommy are now frowning at me like I'm speaking French, and it's one of those moments where I actually miss working with my brothers, because after twenty years in a band together we tend to understand each other without having to explain our thought process in great deal. If it had been Ike and Zac that I'd just presented that idea to, I can guarantee that one of them would have known exactly what I meant and would have probably started playing something almost identical to the tune I have in my head right now.

But that's fine. Again, it's what this week is about; connecting with other artists.

"Okay, for example, you know how those old love songs from like the fifties and sixties were always really simple, and they always felt really good. And when you hear those songs you can just tell from the sound of it what era it's from and what it's going to be about because it was always _that_ obvious?"

"Yeah..." Replies Liz hesitantly, still clearly unsure where I'm trying to go with this.

"I was thinking something like that, something where the music _sounds_ like the epitome of one of those classic songs about simply being in love and _longing_ for someone, but if you listen to the lyrics it's almost an _anti_ -love song."

"Anti-love song?" Tommy smiles wickedly. "I like that."

Good, that's what I was hoping he'd say. "It's like this... struggle, like the sentiments of the lyrics completely contradict the melody. Maybe the lyrics even contradict each other."

"Okay, you lost me again." Liz laughs uncertainly as she tucks her hair behind her ear. "How do the lyrics contradict each other?"

"Well, it could almost be a tug-of-war between longing for someone and longing to be done with them." I propose, becoming more and more enamored with the idea the more it takes shape in my mind. "Kinda like... I want you, but I want you to leave me alone, you know? I wish I could be with you, but at the same time, I kinda wish you'd get out of my life entirely."

For a moment, neither of them says anything. Liz looks as though she's deliberating everything I just said and trying to figure out if she even understands it, but Tommy... well, to be honest he kinda looks pissed off. I can't tell for sure because he's refusing to make eye contact with me right now, but I'm willing to bet that's just a sure sign that I'm right.

"I love it." Liz finally declares with a wide smile on her face. "I think it could sound really cool."

"Tommy?"

He nods, but still refuses to look up from the guitar strings he's now idly strumming. "Sure. Whatever you guys wanna do, I'm on board."

"We can come up with something else if-"

"No, it's fine." He insists, finally letting me see his face. And now I _know_ he's mad at me. "Be right back; bathroom break."

I wish I could follow him out of the room without it looking totally suspicious, but since I can't, I just have to sit here in awkward silence with Liz and try to figure out how to get him to forgive me. I didn't expect him to be angry at me for this; the whole point of it was to _help_ him. I know that music is a release for him, just like it is for me. It's healing, it's how we both deal with our pain and our problems. I thought that if we wrote a song about how he's been feeling about our relationship, maybe he could get some of his frustration out. I thought it might make him feel better.

But somehow I've managed to make him feel _worse_. 


	39. Chapter 39

  


 

 

The longer he's gone, the more I feel like an ass. I know I deserve to; I should have asked him before suggesting that we turn his deepest, darkest feelings and insecurities into a song. And I would have, but I didn't have the chance! The idea just came to me, and I did what I always do whenever I have a stroke of "genius". I went for it, full steam ahead, without bothering to put a whole lot of thought into the many possible ways it could backfire.

Maybe I should try to come up with a different idea before he comes back. If I can sell Liz on something else, maybe he won't be mad at me anymore and we can just forget the whole thing.

But before I can even open my mouth to make another suggestion, Liz cuts me off. "You know, I really liked the last thing you said."

"What was the last thing I said?" I ask dumbly, completely unashamed of my cluelessness (I'm clueless so often that it's actually the headspace I'm most comfortable in).

"That 'I wish you'd get out of my life' thing. I think that would actually make a cool lyric."

Shit. "Really?"

"Yeah. 'Get out of my life'..." She repeats thoughtfully. "I think we could totally build on that, don't you?"

Just as I'm preparing to act as though I'm indifferent and pretend I've lost all interest in my own song idea, my iPhone starts ringing. And I'm more than a little surprised to see that it's Tommy who's calling me.

"Sorry, gotta take this." She nods understandingly and goes back to plucking random strings on her bass while I slip out of the room and walk down the hall to the kitchen, where I can talk to him without her overhearing. After doing a quick visual sweep of the room to make sure I really am alone, I answer the call. "Hey."

"What the fuck are you trying to do?"

Yup, he's mad. "Tommy-"

"It was humiliating enough to spill my guts to _you_ , now you wanna take what I said and make it into a song so that _everyone_ will fucking know how I feel?!"

"No one has to know!" I argue, though it sounds a lot more like I'm begging him to believe me. "Haven't you ever written music to deal with something you were feeling before? That's _all_ I was trying to do, I swear. I thought it'd help."

"This is different! Music is just music. It might make people wonder about the emotion behind it, but they can't _know_ for sure. When you add lyrics to it, you're fucking spelling it out for them!"

"I know it feels like it to you because they're _your_ thoughts and _your_ feelings. I know that turning them into a song like this _feels_ like telling the world all of your secrets, believe me, I've been doing it for half my life. But most people have no clue what's real and what's not! And there's three of us in that room, Tommy. Even if someone does think the song is about someone's real feelings, they won't know whose feelings they are."

"Well they'll know they're not yours, because you're happily married." He retorts petulantly (and more than a little bitterly), but I choose to ignore it because I don't see how it's going to make things any better to debate that point.

"Look, I'm sorry I brought up the song idea without asking you. It was a stupid thing to do, and I didn't mean to upset you. I honestly thought it would help you to get it out of your system; it's how I work through things, it always has been. But I should have realized that it's not how everyone else handles their problems." He doesn't respond to my apology, not with anything besides a deep sigh anyway. And after letting the silence hang between us on the line for a moment, I decide to keep trying and hope that I'm getting through to him on some level. "I'm gonna suggest something else to Liz, okay? I'll come up with another idea and-"

"No."

I frown at his sudden and unexpected refusal. "No?"

"Let's just..." He exhales another weary, resigned breath. "Let's stick with the idea we've already got."

"Are you sure?"

It's as though I can actually _hear_ him shrug. "Maybe you're right, maybe using music to get it out will help."

"So... you're not pissed off at me anymore?"

"Don't push it." He responds sternly, but I can hear a playful note in his tone that only becomes more prominent when he speaks again. "And just so you know, you're gonna make this up to me. _A lot._ "

An untamable smile spreads across my face at the implication of what he's just said, I can't help it. "Count on it."

When I head back to the room that Liz is waiting for us in, I'm wearing a satisfied grin and probably have a slight spring in my step. In fact, I'm sure I look like the cliché image of a totally lovesick idiot right now. But there's nothing I can do about it; it's exactly what I am.

I try to rein in my smile before stepping into the room, but if the knowing expression on Liz's face the second she sees me is anything to go by, I'm guessing I failed completely. I can feel her eyes following me as I take a seat on the piano bench once again, and when I chance another look up at her, I find her smirking at me.

"What?"

"Nothing." She chuckles softly, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. "I just think it's totally adorable that one little phone call from your wife can make you _that_ happy." How am I supposed to respond to that? There _is_ no good way, so I just sit here and struggle to keep my smile from faltering entirely. "It _was_ your wife, right?"

"Yeah."

"How long have you guys been married?"

Too long. "Almost nine years."

"Most couples can't even survive two anymore. That's pretty impressive!"

"What's pretty impressive?" Asks Tommy curiously as he joins us once again, picking up his guitar and settling back into his seat.

"Nothing." I reply dismissively, because the last thing I want to do right now is discuss my 'perfect' marriage in front of the guy I'm sleeping with behind my wife's back.

But apparently Liz does.

"I was just telling Taylor that I think it's so cool that he's been married for so long." Liz explains, and I instantly notice the easy smile on Tommy's face begin to fade. Luckily, Liz seems oblivious to it. "I hope one day I'm married to a guy who's still so obviously in love with me after nearly a decade."

Are you kidding me? It's like she's _trying_ to make us both feel worse! Realistically I know that she has no clue what she's doing, and the only reason I feel guilty and Tommy feels miserable is because of our consciences. But it's always so much easier to blame it on innocent bystanders. I really want to explain the situation to Tommy so that he doesn't spend the rest of the day thinking that I was in here gushing about my wife right before he walked in. I want to tell him that Liz was mistaken, and that it's _him_ that I'm "so obviously in love with", it was him who put that uncontrollable smile on my face.

But I don't think I'm going to get the chance. At least not any time soon.

"Ready?" Liz asks hopefully, clearly keen to get back to the song writing now that Tommy and I are done with our distractions.

Tommy nods faintly, his eyes glued to the strings of his guitar so that neither of us can really see his face. "Whenever you are."

"Okay, so, you know that line we were talking about before you left? I was thinking that, instead of saying 'get out of my life', we could say 'get out of my head'." She proposes, glancing between Tommy and I to see if either of us are as taken with her idea as she is. "What do you guys think?"

"It could work..." I agree, feeling terrible for not being as enthusiastic about the whole thing as she is. It's just difficult for me to focus on anything besides how dejected the guy I'm crazy about looks right now. "Maybe we could use both?"

"Good idea!"

I turn to the piano in front of me, scanning the keys for a moment before settling my fingers over them and beginning to play something that sounds _roughly_ like the basis of a fifties doo-wop song. It's pretty easy for me to come up with this kind of tune; this is the music my brothers and I first started singing to when we were kids, it's basically ingrained in my soul. I guess you could say it's my roots, my childhood, even though I wasn't born until almost thirty years after music like this was first popular.

" _Get out of my life, get out of my head..._ "

"Heart." Tommy interrupts me unexpectedly, causing my fingers to pause on the keys as I turn to look at him. He holds my stare for a moment, just long enough for me to be aware that I'm about to get punched in the gut, and then he administers the blow. "Get out of my heart."

"You don't think it'd be a little much to add another line like that?" Frowns Liz uncertainly.

"I meant heart instead of head." He clarifies for her, his tone noticeably softer when he addresses her than it was when he was speaking to me. "You don't love with your head. Hell, you don't even fucking listen to it most of the time."

She laughs quietly, glancing over at me to see my reaction. "He makes a good point."

Yeah, he does. And I have a feeling that he's going to make many more of them before this song is finished, and each one will probably make me feel shittier than the last. And I'm just going to have to sit here and take it, because _I_ did this to him. Any bitterness he's feeling, any pain, any resentment, is because of me. And it was _my_ idea for him to unleash it all during this song writing session, so I'm just going to have to suck it up and deal with whatever he has to say.

I owe him that much.

Over the course of the next eight hours or so, the three of us manage to write and record a song that we're actually all happy with. I'm not going to lie and pretend that it was an entirely painless process, because it definitely wasn't. After we all agreed (well, they agreed and I was outnumbered) that my voice suited the song more than Liz's did, I was forced to repeatedly sing every gut-wrenching lyric we'd come up with over the course of the day. As if spending hours writing them and re-writing them hadn't been difficult enough. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't known that they were all basically about me. But since I _did_ know, it hurt more than a little to have to sing about how Tommy's feelings for me make him sick.

But on the plus side (because surprisingly enough, there is one), somewhere around hour four he seemed to start forgiving me. I guess my plan to help him deal with all of this by writing a song about it worked. He's been in a much better mood all afternoon, he's no longer shooting me looks that feel like kicks in the crotch, and he's even smiled at me several times. Who knows, maybe this whole thing has made us even.

Maybe he thinks we've both suffered enough now.

 

_You got into my heart_

_You got into my soul_

_Now all the walls I built around myself_

_Are all covered in holes_

_I can’t get you out of my heart_

_I can’t get you out of my heart_

_I can’t get you out of my heart_

 

"That sounds _so_ good." Liz states in proud approval. "I mean, the guitar and the piano... it's like it was ripped right out of the fifties! I know that was the sound we were going for, but I didn't expect it to sound _so_ classic!"

Tommy nods in agreement, still wearing the same excited smile on his face that's been present since we wrapped the last guitar take and Ryan, our engineer, started mixing. "I know. I gotta admit, I kinda had my doubts about the whole retro sound at first, I couldn't really imagine how it was gonna turn out. But I think we really fucking pulled it off!"

"I don't know." I sigh, turning the volume down and pausing the playback. "The guitar is really tight, but there are still a few places where I think the piano could feel better. It's a little hit and miss-"

"Fuck that." He argues. "There's nothing wrong with the piano."

"Yeah, I seriously don't know what you're talking about. The whole thing sounds amazing, in my opinion."

"Sorry, Tay." Ryan shakes his head when I look to him for some kind of backup that it appears I'm not going to receive. "I think you're just trying to drive yourself crazier than you already are. As usual."

"I just wanna do _one_ more take, just to see if I can-"

"No." Tommy cuts me off adamantly, sounding so stern and serious that it's almost amusing. "You already did like twenty, and there wasn't even anything wrong with the first one!"

"Are you kidding me? The first five takes _at least_ were sloppy and unusable."

"Whatever." He rolls his eyes, spinning his chair around so that his back is turned to me. "All those in favor of declaring this bitch nailed and getting a beer, say 'fuck yeah'!"

"Fuck yeah!" Laughs Liz immediately. "Except for the beer part, because _ew_."

They both get out of their chairs and begin walking over to the door, ignoring my continued protests and pleas to take just _one_ last stab at the piano. And just as they're about to leave, Isaac and his group are on their way into the studio.

"You guys finished yet?" He asks hopefully.

Liz beams back at him in satisfaction. "All yours."

"Perfect timing!" Meiko grins as she, Isaac and Charlie bundle into the room. "I can't wait for you guys to hear ours; it's sounding _so_ awesome already."

"Leave." Isaac barks at me semi-playfully, waving me out of my seat. "We're not recording with you sitting there. I know you, you'll totally take over and rewrite the whole damn song."

"I will not!" I gasp in mock offense.

"You will, you can't help yourself! You're a total control freak, it's what you excel at."

Funny he should say that, considering how completely out of my control my entire life so frequently feels. Maybe _that's_ why I'm so obsessive with my music. It's the only thing I can fine tune until it's exactly the way I want it. Well... most of the time.

But not today, apparently.

"Fine." I mutter, grudgingly pushing myself out of my chair and following Tommy and Liz out of the studio. "I still say I was right about the piano, though."

"Jesus Christ, it's like Bush and the WMDs all over again." Tommy exclaims in exasperation, and I don't even have chance to express my indignation over that comparison before Liz smacks him upside the head. " _What_? I can't criticize the worst president we've ever had for a mistake the entire fucking world _knows_ he made?!"

"You know that's not why."

"What? The Jesus thing?" He asks, his tone suggesting that it's definitely not the first time he's been reprimanded for taking the Lord's name in vain, and that he's definitely not sorry about it. "It's just the name of a fictional character. Like Adam or Eve or Noah or-"

"Don't be a jerk." She sighs as she pulls open the French doors leading to the kitchen of the main house.

"Don't take it so personally."

I know an impending argument when I see one, and even though trying to keep the peace between Tommy and the beautiful young girl who very clearly has a crush on him isn't my top priority right now, I also don't want to be stuck in the middle of a hostile philosophical debate, either. I just want to have a nice, relaxing evening. No more stress, no more tension, no more animosity and confusion and hurt.

Is that really too much to ask?

"Who's hungry?" I ask, interrupting their bickering before it has the chance to spiral any further. "I was thinking about making burritos."

Tommy turns to me and narrows his eyes scornfully, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him and reveals his true feeling on the subject. "Seriously?"

"No." I chuckle as Liz looks on in confusion, wondering what's so funny about burritos. "I was actually thinking something simple, like spaghetti."

"With meatballs?" He smiles sweetly, making it nearly impossible for me to avoid bursting out laughing. "Or meat sauce?"

"Which would you prefer?"

"Either is fine, just so long as I get some meat in me at some point tonight."

My voice is shaking with irrepressible giggles as I meet his flirtatious smile with one of my own. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

"I swear, men are _so_ weird sometimes." Liz laments with a slow shake of her head as she watches the two of us crack up like we're on some kind of drug. "You find the dumbest things amusing."

"It's one of our many talents." Grins Tommy, waiting until she turns her attention to her cell phone before winking at me. "We're really good with our tools, too."

"Okay, I seriously need a heavy dose of estrogen right now; I'm gonna go call my sister."

Tommy leans against the countertop as Liz leaves the kitchen and I walk over to the pantry to grab a couple of boxes of spaghetti. He doesn't say anything, but I know that he's watching me. I just wish I knew what he was thinking. It's been one hell of a confusing twenty-four hours, things between us have been up and down and all over the damn place. One minute we can't keep our hands off of each other, but then he's so pissed at me that he doesn't even want to be in the same room as me. He tells me that I make him happy, but then he suggests song lyrics that make me feel as though I do anything but. Now he's laughing and joking with me like everything is fine... but he has this pensive expression on his face.

I can't for the life of me tell what it means, it's totally unreadable.

"Were you kidding about the meatballs?" I ask cautiously, casting a sideways glance in his direction just in time to see him smile. "I mean _actual_ meatballs this time."

"No you don't."

"I do!" He laughs at my exaggerated assertion, but I somehow keep myself from doing the same so that maybe he'll believe me. "If you really want meatballs, I can make some. If not, I won't bother."

"You don't have to make them just for me."

I shrug casually, crouching down to rummage around in the cabinet beside the stove for a pot big enough to cook all of this pasta. "I don't mind."

"Well... can I help, at least?"

"Sure." He smiles fondly at me as I hand him a cooking pot and push myself back up to stand beside him. "I know how much you enjoy playing with my balls."

"Is it _that_ obvious?" He sighs, doing his best to feign disappointment. "And here I was thinking I was playing it cool."

"Not so much."

We share a look, a moment... and even though neither one of us speaks, it feels as though so much is said. Apologies, explanations, reassurances, _everything_ we've been wanting to say all day and haven't been able to verbalize suddenly flows so effortlessly between us via a few precious seconds of uninterrupted eye contact.

"So... what did you really think of the song?" He asks as we slowly return to the task of getting everything ready to make dinner for everyone. "Aside from not being totally happy with the piano, I mean."

"I liked it. I thought it turned out really great." Despite the fact that it was painful as hell to have to sing it, knowing that practically every agonizingly resentful word out of my mouth represented his feelings towards me and our relationship. It was like some kind of screwed up exercise in empathy. "How about you?"

"Same." He nods contemplatively, carrying the pot over to the sink to fill it with water. "It was nothing like any of the songs I've ever worked on before, and it was my first time writing lyrics... not that I really wrote any of them; it was mostly you and Liz, I was just a tie-breaker when you guys couldn't agree."

"That's not true." I disagree firmly, turning to face him and give him my full attention. "That song was _all_ you." I can sense that he's about to dispute what I've said, he's already shaking his head, and the second I see him open his mouth I cut him off before he has a chance to diminish his role in the writing process any further. "I mean it. Liz and I might have helped turn the ideas into lyrics, but most of them still came from you."

He's quiet again, and I can't tell if I've upset him or if I've simply won the argument and he sees no point in debating it any further. The quiet isn't strained, exactly, but it's not entirely comfortable, either. I feel like there's something one of us isn't saying... I just don't know what it is. Maybe that means that I'm not the one who needs to be speaking right now. So I should probably just restrain all compulsions to talk and just keep my mouth shut for once.

"You were right." He finally says, his voice so quiet that I initially second guess whether I even heard him at all. "I think it helped."

"Good."

"I didn't think it would, I actually thought it might make me feel worse, you know? To spend all day dwelling on it and everything. But... I don't know. It was like the longer we worked on it, the less I felt like it was weighing on me, I guess."

"That's how it usually feels when I write about stuff that's bothering me." I smile to myself as I think of a very strange and possibly inappropriate comparison to make. "It's like, whenever I was a kid and I got sick, my mom would always say 'better out than in'."

"Nice." He snorts, grimacing at the mental image. "But I know what you mean."

"I'm glad it helped."

"Did it help _you_?" He asks uncertainly, almost guiltily. "Or... did it just make you feel like shit?"

"If I said it did both, would you believe me?"

"I don't know. It doesn't seem like it'd be possible to feel both."

He makes a fair point. However, I am a master when it comes to living with conflicting emotions waging a war inside of me. I actually can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't experiencing two completely opposing feelings at the same time, it's pretty much the norm for me.

"It wasn't easy to hear how you feel, but it's not like I was oblivious to it in the first place." I shrug, trying to sound as neutral as I can (i.e. not very). "I knew going into it that I wouldn't like everything you had to say, but it was more important that you got to say it, so..."

"Thank you." His tone is so soft, so sincere, it's impossible for me to keep my eyes trained on the cutting board in front of me and resist the urge to look up at him.

And the second I do, all I can think about is kissing him.

"Any time."

My body shifts instinctively as he moves a little nearer, leaning in closer to him. It's as though I can hear the electricity crackling in the air around us, everything is so powerfully charged right now that, despite the fact that I'm well aware of how dangerous it would be for me to let myself close the small gap between us and press my lips to his, I know that I'm not going to be able to stop myself from doing it anyway.

He sighs contentedly against my mouth, his arms snaking around my neck and his fingers lacing in my hair as I pull him to me and deepen the kiss. It's stupid and reckless but it feels so fucking _right_. And the excitement caused by the fact that we've been together all day and haven't been able to do this, coupled with the knowledge that someone could walk in on us any minute now, results in an overwhelming kind of passion that we're completely incapable to fighting.

But all of that fire and all of those sparks fizzle out in a split second when a voice from across the room shatters the silence.

"Oh, shit..."


	40. Chapter 40

  


 

 

I'm torn between total panic and total relief.

Not that Alex catching me kissing Tommy is anything to be relieved about. But out of everyone who could have possibly walked in on us just now, I'm almost glad that it was him and no one else. I know we haven't been friends for a long time, but back when we were 'inseparable' I could always trust him to keep any knowledge of my not -so-wholesome side to himself. And he covered for me this morning without me even having to ask, and without even knowing what was going on, which makes me believe that he's still somebody I can trust.

At least, I hope he is...

"We were... uh..." There's no good way to finish this sentence. I kinda wish I'd never started it. We were just... what? Testing each other's gag reflexes with our tongues? "I mean..."

What _do_ I mean?

I don't even know. But I swear to God that if the next words out of my mouth are "it's not what it looks like", I will fucking shoot myself.

"What's cookin'?" Alex asks boisterously, plastering a wide smile on his face as he continues into the kitchen like he never saw a thing.

And when Zac and Carrick appear in the doorway just a couple of seconds later, I realize why he's putting on the act. I guess I should probably try to wipe the guilty look off of my face and at least attempt to feign indifference. Either that or I could just follow Tommy's example by turning my back on them and pretending to be engrossed in cooking.

"Uh... spaghetti." I finally blurt out, trying my hardest to muster some semblance of a smile. "Everyone alright with that?"

"Sounds great." Carrick grins back appreciatively. "We worked right through lunch, so I'm _starving_."

"Is the studio free yet?" Asks Zac disinterestedly, all but pushing his way past me and Tommy to get to the fridge, despite the fact that he could have gone around the island in the middle of the room and avoided us both entirely. "We've been waiting for hours for other people to be done in there."

Nice, Zac. Subtle as a sledgehammer, as always. "Sorry, Ike beat you to it."

"Awesome."

"But studio B is open."

He rolls his eyes, like it's completely ludicrous for me to imply that he might use our second, smaller studio over the main one. "Thanks."

I have to bite my tongue as I watch them all walk over to the hallway and disappear from the room, otherwise I'm going to ask Alex if I can talk to him for a minute which will only draw Zac's attention to the fact that something is going on. And the last thing I need is Zac getting any more pissy than he clearly already is. What with Tommy being here, and now his attempt at using Alex to come between us and make me uncomfortable blowing up in his face, I hate to think how he'd react if he thought I was "flaunting" my extra-marital affair.

My hopes that the tension would vacate the room along with my little brother are dashed when it continues to linger long after he's gone. I don't know whether or not I should reassure Tommy that it'll be okay, because there's no way for me to know that it will be. But I don't want to make small talk like it's no big deal that someone just walked in on us. It seems so stupid; we were only kissing, and a couple of months ago his roommate walked in on us mid-sex! This shouldn't be a big deal in comparison. Hell, we _laughed_ over that. But I knew that Tommy trusted him. He knew him, they lived together, and he was confident that Dave would keep our secret. As much as I want to believe that Alex will do the same, I won't know for sure until I talk to him.

"Are we screwed?" Tommy eventually asks me, carefully stirring the semi-limp spaghetti in the boiling water on the stove.

"I don't know." I doubt that's the answer he was looking for, but it's the only honest one that I have to offer right now. "I hope not."

"Is that it?" He frowns, glancing at me for the first time since our kiss was interrupted. "You _hope_ not?"

"What else do you want me to say?" I shrug helplessly as I grab a few jars of pasta sauce from the pantry. "I could tell you that it's gonna be fine, but it might not be. Or I could tell you we're completely fucked, but it might be fine and then we'll be freaking out over nothing."

"So you think we should just like... stay calm and have dinner?"

"That's pretty much all we can do right now." He doesn't argue with me, but he doesn't seem to feel any better about it, either. Not that I expected him to, really. _I_ don't. But I know that if I have a meltdown right now he's going to feel even worse, so I'm doing my utmost to contain the crazy. "I'll talk to Alex later, when he's done recording and everyone is distracted."

"Okay."

"I'm sure it's gonna be okay... I trust him."

I think.

Neither of us really has any appetite anymore, even though this is the only meal we've had all day. But after taking dinner to everyone else, Tommy and I join Liz at the kitchen table and force down as much pasta as we can manage. Thankfully, Liz is in a chatty enough mood to fill the silence all by herself with minimal participation from the two of us. All we have to do is nod and smile and pretend that we're listening to what she's saying. But I think his mind is as preoccupied with what happened earlier as mine is.

Once we're all done with dinner and recording, everyone gathers back in the main house for another night of 'getting to know you' fun. Isaac orchestrated the whole thing, devising music related games for us to play so that we can all 'bond'. Considering the fact that I've slept with one third of the people here (which makes me feel kind of slutty, to be honest), I grew up with Ike, and spent months touring with Carrick a couple of years ago, I'd say I'm pretty well bonded. But I know it means a lot to him that we all participate, since he spent weeks coming up with this stuff, so I grin and bear it.

And the presence of hard liquor doesn't hurt at all.

Actually, that's not fair. Despite my initial misgivings, and multiple personal issues, we all end up having a good time. Yes, Ike is embarrassingly overbearing and overexcited about the whole thing, but aside from that, it's an evening full of nearly non-stop laughter and intentionally horrendous karaoke. I wasn't expecting to be able to relax much tonight, and I didn't think Tommy would either, so it's a relief to watch him performing a particularly terrible (although highly amusing) rendition of _TiK ToK_ with Carrick and Meiko (complete with a ridiculously uncoordinated dance routine). I know that more than a few shots of vodka went into making it so hilariously bad, but that doesn't make it any less enjoyable to see him so cheerful.

It only gets awkward when we split up into teams for a game inspired by Ike's stint on the quiz show 'Never Mind The Buzzcocks'. Each team gets an envelope with three songs listed inside, then two of the team members leave the room for five minutes and practice how to 'perform' the intros to those songs. No instruments or lyrics are allowed, but they need to sound good enough that the third member of the team will (hopefully) be able to recognize the songs. Which is all well and good... except that I end up on a team with Alex and Charlie, and Charlie decides that he'd rather do the guessing than the performing.

Which leaves me alone in a room with Alex for five minutes.

"So... which one should we start with?" I ask uncomfortably once we've made our way back to the kitchen. "I think _Tainted Love_ is probably gonna be the easiest."

"Sure." He nods, casually leaning against the countertop and folding his arms across his chest. "Or we could go with _I Kissed A Pretty Blond Bass Player and I Liked It_."

I don't know how I expected this to play out, but I know I didn't picture him smirking at me and cracking jokes about it. And I definitely didn't think that _I_ would have anything to smile about during this conversation. But it's kind of impossible to keep the corners of my mouth from curling up at his comment.

"About that..." I still have no clue what to tell him, I guess I thought I'd figure it out along the way. "Tommy and me... it's... we're..." Yeah, this is going really well. "We've kinda been-"

"Fucking?" He queries frankly, quirking an amused eyebrow at me as he watches me squirm. "I figured that out for myself. People don't usually climb each other the way you two were unless they're hoping to end up impaled on something."

"You always did have a way with words."

"It's a gift." He shrugs, walking over to the fridge to grab himself another beer. "But you know, we had that whole big 'what have you been doing lately' conversation last night, and you _totally_ left him off of your list."

"Yeah, well... it's not exactly something I go around telling people about."

"Understandably."

"So... are _you_ gonna tell anyone about it?"

"Who would I tell? It's  none of my business, so it's sure as hell no one else's." God I've missed him and his incredibly simplistic way of looking at life. He's always had this ability to sweep away the clutter and make everything so fucking _clear_. "Well, maybe it's a little bit Ike and Zac's business. But judging by the way Zac's been glaring at Tommy all night, and Ike keeps looking at you like he's gonna slap the shit out of you every time you so much as glance in Tommy's direction, I'm guessing they already know?"

"Yeah, they're... aware."

"And Natalie? Is she 'aware'." My only response is to stare ashamedly at my feet. That pretty much says it all. "Well, what she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?"

"I _wish_ it was that simple."

"She sees what she wants to see, Tay. Always has." He points out in that brusque and yet somehow completely diplomatic tone of his. "That's why she never saw who you really were."

"I guess."

"And it doesn't help that you're so damn good at pretending to be someone you're not that most people have no fucking clue how unhappy you really are."

"I'm not unhappy. I'm just..." Discontent. Is that any better? "I'm okay."

"If you were okay, you wouldn't be groping that hot little... elf out there."

That remark leaves me laughing so loudly that I'm pretty sure everyone back in the family room probably heard it. " _Elf_?"

"What? He looks like he just pranced right out of Rivendell and stumbled into Hot Topic or someshit. Except he's _way_ prettier than Orlando Bloom."

"Careful, Alex. Your nerd is showing."

"Hey, I'm proud of my nerd. I'll show it to anyone who asks." He winks at me flirtatiously, and even though I roll my eyes at him, I can't help smiling.

"I _didn't_ ask."

" _You_ never need to."

"And on _that_ note, I think our five minutes are probably up." I've barely taken two steps before I feel his slender fingers wrap around my upper arm and pull me back again, turning me to face him.

"It's only been three minutes."

"Okay, well, maybe we should spend the last two practicing these intros?"

He stares at me for a moment, his eyes slowly drifting between mine, searching them in a way that feels so penetrating and unwavering that I desperately want to look away before he sees too deeply into me. But it's as though he's got me pinned by his gaze; I can't move.

"Just tell me one thing first."

Shit. "... What?"

"Is he as feisty in the bedroom as he is in the kitchen?"

"Alex!"

"Come on, you gotta give me something!" In an effort to avoid dignifying that particular question with any further response, I start to walk away again. But that doesn't stop him. "So that's a yes? It's a yes, isn't it? I _knew_ it! Sometimes I can just tell when a 'straight' guy is totally hard up for cock."

"No comment."

"I could tell with you, ya know. From the _second_ I met you!" He taunts, knowing full well that I won't be able to ignore a suggestive remark like that. Unfortunately, my death glare does absolutely nothing to shut him up. Some things never change. "You looked so sweet and innocent, all big blue eyes and pouty pink lips-"

"I will seriously _pay_ you to stop talking."

"But I knew what you were really like-"

"Do you want my car? You can have my car!"

"No, thanks. Your car is a piece of shit."

I should probably be offended by that. But it's difficult to even act insulted when I know it's true. I'm a father of four; I don't get to drive the car of my dreams. I get to drive whatever car has a good safety rating and enough room for three booster seats in the back.

But hey, at least he's finally stopped talking about how he could tell I was a total closet case just by looking at me!

"Alright, fine, if you won't tell me what he's like in bed, will you at least tell me which one of you tops? I feel like it could go either way." Or not. "Or do you trade off? 'Cause that's hot!"

I want him to know that I'm outraged by the question, but I think my indignation is _slightly_ negated by my laughter. "I'm not telling you that!"

"Please? You owe me one!"

"So you're saying that if I tell you who tops, we're even and we _never_ have to talk about this again?"

"Not unless _you_ want to." He smiles sweetly, completely unfazed by me scowling at him.

I'm sure I'll regret this. If not immediately, then in the very near future. But he's right about me owing him, and it seems like a harmless enough thing to admit. "If you must know... most of the time... it's me."

" _Really_?" He grins as though the fact that I pitch makes him _so_ proud. "Good for you!"

"Thanks... I think."

"No, I'm serious. When we used to fool around you never once even _tried_ to top. You let me throw you around like a fucking rag doll most of the time."

"Again, _beautiful_ imagery."

"I'm just saying that you always just kinda took it, you know? And I'm not just talking about sex. You used to let everyone push you and pull you around however it suited them, and you _never_ said a fucking word about it. It's good that you're taking a little control for once. Or that you've at least found someone who lets you _have_ some control."

I never really thought about it that way, but he has a point. It's not like I consciously _let_ him or Zac do whatever they wanted to me in bed, but just like every other area of my life, I shut myself down and let them take control. It was easier to keep them happy and let them have their way. If Alex wanted to 'throw me around', or if Zac suddenly decided that he _needed_ me to get him off regardless of where we were or what we were doing, I just went along with it. It wasn't worth it to put up any kind of fight or make a big deal about it, no matter what _I_ wanted myself. And in a way, the same is true with Nat. Even though I very rarely (if ever) feel like having sex with her, I never say no just because I'm not in the mood. It's easier to do what she wants whether I feel like it or not than to deal with her feeling rejected and unattractive.

But none of that's true with Tommy.

When we're together, it's about _us_. As weak as I tend to feel around him, it's not because of anything he says or does to make me feel that way. I _love_ that sense of being powerless when I'm with him, because I _know_ deep down that I'm not. I know that I can tell him what I want and he'll listen, and he won't make me feel guilty or selfish for asking for it. I don't switch off my needs, I don't have to. I'm not just there to make _him_ feel good and be what _he_ wants me to be, it's more than that.

For once, I feel like _I'm_ more than that.

"Stop thinking so much." Alex tells me knowingly, tapping my forehead with his knuckles as though he's knocking on a door. "You'll strain something."

"Thanks."

"Welcome." He smiles and wraps his arm around my shoulders as we walk back towards the family room together. "Besides, when you think too much your forehead gets all... crinkly. Don't get me wrong, it's cute as hell, but you're getting some very premature wrinkles up there."

"Huh. So your lack of wrinkles means that you _never_ think?"

"No, I just use that really expensive skin cream with sperm in it."

I probably should have seen that answer coming. I don't know _how_ , I just should have. "Glad I asked."

It's a good thing that Alex and I still seem to be so in tune with each other despite so many years spent apart. It makes improvising the intros to three songs with absolutely _no_ practice a lot easier than I thought it would be. Our team doesn't win, but Charlie manages to correctly guess two out of three of our so-so song interpretations, so I think we deserve some credit. __

I have to admit, what I thought was going to be a painfully awkward night turned out to be a lot more fun than I could have imagined.

The only downside of all this 'together time' is that I don't get to spend any 'alone time' with Tommy. I know we spent last night together, and then all day today together, but it doesn't really count. Last night was so full of ups and downs that we barely got to enjoy simply being in each other's presence. And today we had Liz with us the whole time. It's not enough. I don't think _any_ amount of time with him would be enough.

But I also don't think that we can risk another night together here.

I almost got caught this morning, we came way too close to everyone finding out that I spent the night in his room. And I _at least_ need to go home and get a change of clothes. I may have successfully gotten through today wearing the same outfit as yesterday, but I can't wear this three days in a row. It's not fair to my nostrils or anyone else's. I wish I could just invite him to come back to my place with me, but I know that's not an option in his mind and I understand why. It wouldn't really feel right to me, either.

I guess I just need to be a responsible adult and do what I need to do, regardless of whether or not I _want_ to do it.

I've barely even made it to the end of the driveway before my phone vibrates to alert me to a new text. I should probably pull over before taking my phone out of my pocket to look; driving in the snow, in the dark, while reading a text isn't really a great example of safe driving. But I'm hoping it's from Tommy, so there's pretty much _nothing_ that can stop me from reading it no matter what else I'm doing.

I can't sleep.  : (

Sleep? I'd be surprised if he's even made it up to his room yet.

Have you tried? :-P

It barely takes thirty seconds before his next message arrives.

No. What's your point?

I'm about to text him back and tell him that maybe he should at least spend five minutes lying on a bed before declaring sleep impossible, but I stop myself just as I'm about to type the first letter. _Why_ are we doing this? We're texting back and forth when we've barely been apart for a few minutes. I didn't want to leave him, and I could tell from the disappointed look on his face as I said goodnight to everyone that he didn't want me to go. I have a horrible feeling that, if I keep driving away from him right now, I'm going to spend most of tonight staring at my bedroom ceiling in the dark, wishing I'd stayed with him.

In fact, it's already started.

Grab a change of clothes and sneak out of the house. I'll pick you up out front in 5.

Okay, so this probably isn't the smartest idea, and once again I'm risking us getting caught sneaking around together. But damnit, I miss him!

Five minutes later, I'm pulling up outside the house with my headlight off so that (hopefully) no one will see me, praying that the brakes don't squeak as I bring the car to the slowest stop imaginable. He hurries over to the passenger side door and lets himself in, shivering from the cold night air while he settles into the chair and puts his seatbelt on.

"We're not going to your place are we?" He asks warily, breathing hot air onto his hands in an effort to warm up a little. "It'd be _way_ too weird."

"I know. Don't worry, I'm just gonna stop there and grab some clothes."

"And then where are we going?"

"You'll see."

After an hour long drive, and a brief detour to grab myself some clean clothes and a toothbrush, I pull my car into the parking garage of the Hyatt Regency in downtown Tulsa. Tommy seems a little bewildered as I turn the engine off, looking around us at the quiet garage before finally turning to me with a curious expression on his face.

"We're at a hotel?"

"I figured that, since I couldn't stay with you and you didn't wanna go to my place, this was the only way for us to spend the night together."

He smiles a little, but there's still an obvious hint of confusion in his eyes. "Okay... but... aren't there any cheaper hotels in Tulsa? Like a Motel 6 or a Super 8 or something?"

"There are, but they're not nice enough."

"But we're only gonna be here for like six hours!" He laughs incredulously, following me out of the car and over to the elevators. "As long as we have a bed, what does it matter how nice the place is?"

"There's a method to my madness."

"First time for everything." The sound of him yelping playfully as I smack him on the ass echoes throughout the parking garage, making it even more amusing than it normally would have been.

Since it's a little too risky for me to be renting out hotel rooms in my home town, where pretty much everyone knows who I am, I stay over by the elevators in the lobby and try to appear inconspicuous while he deals with checking into the room and getting the key. He looks way too pleased with himself when he returns, and even though it takes me the entire ride up to our floor to get him to tell me why, he eventually confesses to getting us a king size bed. His giddy excitement over it is completely adorable, and he only gets cuter when we step into the hotel room and he practically takes a running leap onto the bed, sinking into the soft, downy comforter and sighing in satisfaction.

"You were right, this is _so_ much better than some skeazy motel."

"That's not why we're here." I tell him as I close the door behind us and toe off my shoes before joining him on the bed. "Although I gotta admit, it's a bonus."

"So then why'd you wanna come here?"           

Instead of answering him verbally, I pick up the TV remote and hand it to him, instructing him to turn the channel on the flat screen TV to number sixty-two. It takes him all of five seconds to recognize the show that's on when he does so, and his face instantly lights up like a kid on Christmas morning.

" _Bonanza_? Fuck yeah!"

"You can't get this channel at the cheap hotels."

He grins at me as he leans over and pecks me on the lips. "Thank you!"

I'm sure most guys (and girls) wouldn't bring TommyJoe Ratliff to a hotel room with a king size bed just to sleep beside him while he watches TV all night. Maybe there's something wrong with me for being perfectly happy to spend the next six hours locked away in here with him fully clothed. But just knowing how content he is to lie here and watch old TV shows is good enough for me. It makes _me_ feel content, too.

In fact, as I prop one of the fluffy, oversize pillows up against his thigh and rest my head on it, only vaguely paying attention to what's happening on screen while he idly combs his fingers through my hair, I can't remember the last time I felt so _completely_ at ease.


	41. Chapter 41

  


 

 

The next morning my sleep is disturbed by something tickling the sensitive skin of my right wrist. At first I simply shift my arm a little and stuff my face back into my pillow, hoping that whatever it was will stop so that I can get just a few more minutes of peace. But only seconds later I feel it again. Up and down, up and down, lightly tracing what feels like a backwards C, over and over again. I grumble and pull my arm away entirely, shoving it defensively between my body and the bed so that nothing can possibly get anywhere near my wrist.

And then I hear giggling.

It's a soft sound, gentle, almost delicate. Like a whisper of a laugh. It automatically makes me want to smile, it makes me happy, and it reminds me that when I open my eyes I'm going to see Tommy lying beside me. Which makes it _so_ much less of a chore to wake up than it usually is.

"Morning." He smiles down at me as I lift my head from his stomach to look up at him. There's a glint of amusement dancing in his playful brown eyes. I guess that probably means my hair is doing something stupid, as usual. "Sorry for the annoying wake up; I thought it would be better than shaking you or just like... shoving you off of the bed."

"Appreciated." I yawn, instinctively scratching at my lower arm as I feel a phantom tickle from where he was touching me a moment ago. It's not until I glance down at it that I realize that he wasn't just randomly playing with my wrist, he was drawing over my tattoo with his finger. "Sometimes I still forget I have this." I muse aloud, lifting my arm to rest on his thigh so that we can both see it properly. "I've had moments of actual shock when I've looked down at it."

"You're kinda slow, huh?" He chuckles, returning the tip of his finger to my skin and resuming his tender tracing.  And this time, rather than irritating me back to consciousness, it's so completely relaxing that I end up closing my eyes again.

"Kinda."

"You never told me how people reacted to you getting a tattoo."

"You never asked."

"I'm asking now."

I shrug faintly, too wrapped up in the feelings of total contentedness that I'm experiencing right now to really care about anything else. "It wasn't a big deal, honestly."

"Really?" It's as though I can _hear_ the dubious frown in his voice, despite his attempts to sound pleasantly surprised. "No one gave you shit for it?"

"Not exactly. I mean... Ike and Zac knew it was something to do with you, so they kinda just rolled their eyes and took a 'no comment' approach to the whole thing. Nat had a minor freak out, but she got over it pretty quickly."

"Minor freak out?"

"Yeah." I sigh, tired just from the memory of it. "She didn't even really notice it for the first couple of days I was home, I think she just assumed I'd doodled on myself or something. But then when she realized it was a tattoo... I don't know, I guess she thought I was 'changing' or something. She was all like, 'how could you do something so irresponsible?' and 'why didn't you tell me?'."

"What did you say?"

"I just told her that I had too much to drink one night while I was in L.A. and it seemed like a good idea." I reply somewhat apprehensively, because I'm afraid that he'll take offense to the reason I gave her even though he _knows_ it's a total lie. He knows that I was entirely sober and completely aware of what I was doing that night. "She said it was a stupid thing to do, that I was lucky I didn't get something embarrassing tattooed on me somewhere more obvious, and that at least I could cover it up with a watch or something."

"She doesn't like it?" He asks, apparently more affronted by that fact than by my 'I was drunk' excuse.

"She doesn't like tattoos in general; she thinks they make people look kinda... trashy."

"Huh."

The comment doesn't seem to upset or bother him, but I still instantly regret making it. I don't want him to take it personally. And I don't want to make it seem like she's this terrible, shallow person who would make judgments about people based on their appearance, because she's not like that at all. She just has a thing about tattoos; so do my parents. It doesn't make any of them bad people, it's just something that they don't really understand.

Hell,  even _I_ was never a fan of them, really. I always thought about getting one, but _only_ one and nothing big. I never understood why anyone would want to cover entire limbs with them, especially since they end up being covered by clothes half the time. But since meeting Tommy, I've had a change of heart on the issue. And I definitely have a new appreciation for them since getting mine. It's not about whether or not anyone can see it, it's not about how big or small it is, it's only about what it represents to _me_.

"Well, _I_ think it's hot." He eventually declares, wrapping his slender fingers around my hand and lifting it to his face until my wrist is close enough to his mouth for him to kiss the small, black bass clef on my skin.

But he doesn't _just_ kiss the tattoo once.

At first he merely presses his lips to it for a second, but just when I think he's about to pull away, he kisses it again. And this time it's not just an innocent little peck. His lips graze my skin so sensually that I feel something akin to a jolt of electricity surging through my veins, up my arm, setting off some kind of explosion in my chest that leaves my heart racing. And then it's the tip of his tongue that's trailing along the curve of the clef, dragging _so_ tantalizingly slowly across my flesh that it actually makes me shudder until I _whimper_.

"W-what time is it?" I manage to gasp out through my dry, parted lips.

"Hmm... I forget." He breathes softly, too preoccupied with driving me crazy to care if we're late back to the house. And honestly, right now, I'm a little preoccupied with that, too. "Five something, I think."

Five something. That's not bad. I can work with five something. It'll take us almost an hour to get back to the house, and as long as we get there by seven I think the chances of anyone else being awake are slim.

Which means we still have some time left  to make the most of this king size bed...

Which of course makes us late, _again_ , and leaves us scrambling to dry off after our shower (okay, so it probably would have been faster to take separate ones, but come on!) and get back down to the car. It's a pretty depressing feeling, having to leave that hotel room and return to the real world. We may have only spent seven hours up there, and I may have spent the majority of that time asleep, but everything felt different. It always does when it's just the two of us, when we can just relax and be ourselves, say and do whatever we feel like. That's something I don't often get to experience in my day to day life. And it's something that we definitely can't afford to do together when we're around other people. It makes me resentful, I'll admit.  Although I'm not entirely sure _who_ I resent.

I think it's mostly myself.

I feel like I did this to both of us. I did this by getting Natalie pregnant nine years ago, and then choosing to marry her. If I hadn't, maybe I would have been single when he and I met, or at least in a relationship that would have been a hell of a lot less impossible to end. I did this by letting him kiss me that night, and by agreeing to meet up with him in Thackerville, knowing full well that I wanted it to happen again. If I hadn't, maybe I would have just gone on with my life and rarely thought back on that insanely pretty guy I once met in a bar. And he could have gone on with his life and forgotten that I ever even existed.

And I resent myself for thinking all of those things. Because wishing I'd never gotten Natalie pregnant is like wishing none of my children were born. And wishing that Tommy and I had never kissed is like wishing I'd never known what it felt like to truly be _me_ for the first time in my life. And I resent myself for _that_ , too, because it's selfish. I'm selfish, and I'm terrified that it's going to result in Tommy getting hurt.

Mostly I'm just terrified that, eventually, _he's_ going to resent me, too.

When we finally pull up to the house (or as close as I can get without bringing the car into view, just in case anyone is already awake), he's asleep. I'm going to assume that he got even less sleep than I did last night, if he even slept at all. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to take him to a hotel where he could watch his favorite TV shows until the early hours of the morning. But if you'd seen his face when he realized that he could spend hours on end watching _Bonanza_ and _M.A.S.H_ and _The Dick Van Dyke Show_ , you would've done the same thing!

I _really_ don't want to wake him, he looks so tired. But the longer we sit out here, the higher the risk becomes that either someone is going to see us, or he's going to get caught when he tries to sneak back into the house.

"Tommy?"

"Five more minutes." He sighs wearily, sinking a little lower in his seat.

"If you wake up now, you can go indoors and sleep in an actual bed instead of the front seat of my car."

"I like the front seat of your car." A flirtatious smile begins to tug at the corners of his mouth. "I bet I'd like the back seat better, though."

How he can be adorable _and_ sexy in the same breath is still a mystery to me. I know very few people who can pull off both, but he's the only person I know who can do both simultaneously. "Are you seriously hitting on me in your sleep?"

"I'm only _half_ asleep."

"It's still pretty impressive."

He raises a curious brow, finally cracking one eye open to look at me. "How impressive?"

"So impressive that, if you were _fully_ awake right now, I'd invite you on a private tour of the back seat."

"I'm awake."

I laugh softly as he sits up straight and opens both eyes. "I said 'right now'. That was two seconds ago, and you were still only half asleep. Sorry, offer expired."

"Fuck. I sleep through all the good stuff." He sighs tiredly, glancing over at the house. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he really doesn't want to go back in there. At least, not alone. But we both know he has to. "I should probably  go."

"Yeah."

When he turns to face me, I can _see_ how much he wants to ask me to come up to his room with him. Not to do anything other than sleep for a couple of hours, but just to be there. And hopefully he can see how badly I want to. I'm getting so tired of having to let him go. Even when he's right here in front of me I don't get to keep him.

"I guess the odds of us being in a group together today are pretty slim, huh?"

Actually, the odds of that are zero. Instead of drawing names out of a tambourine today, the groups will be decided based on who worked together yesterday. No one will work with any of the same people, which means we won't get to see or speak to each other until tonight. But instead of telling him all of that (because I think we're both aware of it and saying it out loud isn't going to make either of us feel any better), I force a small smile and shrug.

"Stranger things have happened."

He knows I'm putting on a positive (or something besides completely negative) front for his benefit, and the expression on his face as he leans over and presses his lips to mine is entirely grateful. "See ya."

"Yeah... see ya."

With one last hint of a smile, he opens the passenger side door and steps out onto the dawn-lit driveway, offering me a half-hearted wave once he reaches the front steps of the house. I watch him carefully slip back into the quiet building, and as soon as he's out of sight my heart sinks. It's funny how sometimes you can be so unaware of what you're feeling until that moment when the feeling is suddenly gone. Something can feel so right, so much a part of you, like it's always there and you wouldn't even be complete without it. You become almost oblivious to its presence because it's something you don't even need to think about. You're just... you.

But in its absence, you're not.

I'm not really sure what to do with myself now. It's only seven-thirty. I can't go home because by the time I get there I'll have to turn right around and come back again. I guess I could go and find a Starbucks to hang out in until closer to nine, but the nearest one is like half an hour away.

After spending another five minutes or so staring aimlessly out of the windshield at the snow covered world around me, I snap myself out of the daze I'd slipped into and make a decision. That decision is to park the car over by the studio, let myself into the pool house, and pass out on the couch.

I doubt Alex will mind.

At some point later, I'm guessing some time just before nine, I'm awoken by something damp landing on my face and a cheerful voice crowing " _cock_ -a-doodle-DO-me!". After sitting bolt upright, screaming like a girl, and throwing the damp something (that happens to be a towel) across the room, I find myself confronted with a sight that I _never_ thought I'd see again.

"Oh my _God_!"

"Morning."

"Dude!" He laughs softly as I finally find the presence of mind to put a hand over my eyes so that I'm no longer staring at his naked crotch. "Cover yourself up!"

"Hey, you break into my pool house in the middle of the night, you better be prepared to deal with the consequences."

"I'm sorry, _your_ pool house?" I exclaim, making the mistake of lowering my hand just in time to see him shrug indifferently before he turns and walks over to the bedroom. He leaves his towel on the floor, giving me an uninhibited view of his ass.

Same shameless exhibitionist I remember.

"You know what I mean." He calls back to me from the bedroom. "What are you doing here?"

"Long story."

"Shorten it."

There he goes again, trying to make my complicated life seem so much simpler than it actually is. "Okay, well... Tommy snuck out last night after I left, and we went to a hotel and-"

" _Nice_!"

"Watched TV."

"Oh." I can't see him, but I can clearly hear the pout in his tone. "Mine was better, but continue."

"Anyway, we had to get here early so he could sneak back in before anyone was awake to find out he'd been gone all night. And I couldn't be bothered to go home, so I figured I'd just crash here for a little while."

"And you didn't have sex _at all_?"

"Alex!"

"I'm sorry! It's just that, ever since I walked in on you guys yesterday, I haven't been able to stop picturing you fucking like porn stars."

Awesome. " _Please_ try."

"I have been!"

I should probably be annoyed by his inability to focus on anything besides me and Tommy having sex, but honestly I'm too amused. And I'll admit, it's kind of hot (in a weird way) that he's so turned on by the idea of the two of us together. We have to hide our relationship from so many people, and the few people who do know about it all frown on it for one reason or another. Alex isn't disgusted by it, he doesn't disapprove, if anything he's _encouraging_ it. After all of the hiding and the lying and the worrying about what will happen if we get caught, it's not only refreshing to have someone support (if you can call it that) this thing between us, it's exciting.

When he eventually reemerges from the bedroom, he's located a pair of jeans and a baggy t-shirt to cover himself up with. The t-shirt is probably a size small, he's just so rail thin that anything looks baggy on him; it always has.

"Thanks for wearing something."

"I aim to please."

"As I recall, you rarely miss."

I swear I don't mean to flirt with him, I have absolutely no lingering feelings for him. I mean, yes, he's as attractive and charismatic as he ever was, but I have zero interest in him anymore. This is just how it always used to be between us, even when we were nothing more than friends, before we ever so much as kissed. We _always_ flirted, whenever we talked it was as though neither of us could string a sentence together without making it suggestive somehow. It's how we relate to each other, apparently.

"Can I ask you something? It's probably gonna sound a little... weird, but-"

"Say no more. I would be _completely_ willing to have a threesome with you guys."

If I had something to throw at him right now, I would. Unfortunately I don't, and he's standing too far away for me to smack that smug smile off of his face. " _Not_ what I was going to ask."

"Oh. Well keep the answer in mind anyway, just in case."

"Will do."

"So what is it you really wanted to ask me?"

I'm not even sure how to phrase this, I think it's going to come out crazy no matter which words I use. So I guess I should just... say it. "Why?"

"Why... what?"

"Why are you so okay with what I'm doing with Tommy?" He shrugs. Just like that, like it's nothing, like it wouldn't change my life and countless others if this secret ever went public. "That's not an answer."

"I don't have one." He replies simply, closing the small distance between us and dropping down onto the couch beside me. "I just... think it's nice."

"Nice?" That's not a word I would have ever expected anyone to use when it comes to our relationship. "You think it's nice that I'm cheating on my wife with a guy?"

"No, I think it's nice that you get to be yourself, even just a little bit."

"Yeah, I get to be myself. And myself happens to be a selfish, unfaithful asshole."

"No, yourself happens to be a gay guy trapped in straight guy's life. You're married to a woman who you never really loved but accidentally knocked up while you were desperately trying to be the poster child for heterosexual perfection. Emphasis on _child_."

"You really wanna emphasize that part? You were sleeping with me back then."

"Yeah, I'm creepy like that." He smirks proudly, giving me a playful nudge with his elbow when the only response he gets is an eye roll. "Seriously, though, you w _ere_ still just a kid, Tay, we both were. Or very young adults, whatever you wanna call it. Whatever you were, you weren't ready to be a dad. I'm not saying you didn't rise to the occasion and shit, because it looks like you've got four totally happy and healthy rug rats running around. I'm sure you're a great dad, better than I ever would be, better than a lot of guys ever could be... and you're probably the best husband you know how to be when deep down you wish you could be with a guy instead. Doesn't mean this is the life you want, or the life you should be living."

"Maybe not, but it's the life I _have_ to live."

"I take it that means you're not thinking about leaving Natalie?"

Oh God, I really hope he's not about to try and make that idea seem like it's no big deal again. We only _just_ recovered from the last time we had this conversation. I didn't get enough sleep to go through it again.

"How could I? Things are even more complicated now than they were back then. Every reason I had for staying before is still true now, maybe even more so. Only now, instead of having to worry about being painted as an irresponsible young rock star who got his teenage girlfriend pregnant and then dumped her, I have to worry about being the deadbeat who runs out on his wife and _four_ young children to be with another man. I couldn't do that to her _or_ to him... to everyone. It's too late."

"Never too late. Not unless you're dead."

"You know, I think you and Tommy would get along. You sound just like him." I smile fondly as the similarity really strikes me, but Alex seems unsurprised.

"Does that mean he's tried to talk you into leaving her, too?"

"Actually... no. Not even once."

 _That_ seems to give him a moment's pause. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking that he must really care about you."

"Why do you say that? You tried to talk me into leaving her. Does that mean you didn't care about me?"

"You know I did." He tells me, his smile still playful but his tone sincere. "It was different with us. We were just... friends with benefits."

"So?" I shrug, trying to figure out how he came to the conclusion that Tommy must care so deeply about me simply because he hasn't begged me to leave my wife to be with him. "Maybe that's all Tommy and I are."

For a few seconds he seems to consider this possibility, but then he shakes his head in dissent. "Nope, I'm not buying it."

"Not buying it?"

"You're more than just fuck buddies, it's obvious."

"How is it obvious?"

"Because you went to the trouble of sneaking back into the house the other night just to be with him."

"Maybe I was really horny."

"Maybe." He smirks knowingly, clearly undeterred from his belief. "But that doesn't explain why you guys snuck out _again_ last night, paid money for a hotel room, and then spent the entire night watching TV."

"We had sex this morning." I boast, because sometimes I have no control over my incessant _need_ to be right about everything, even when I know I'm wrong, even when I don't _want_ to be right. "Twice!"

"But it wasn't the reason you went there!" He retorts accusingly, pointing a finger in my face. "You went there because you wanted to be alone together. You watched TV and slept, and then this morning you just _happened_ to have sex. But last night it was one hundred percent about simply being with him. Am I right?"

He's completely right, I have no defense; that was exactly what I wanted. But we're not talking about me and my feelings right now. We're debating Tommy's. "That doesn't mean that _he_ wanted the same thing."

"Did he try to jump your bones the minute the hotel room door shut behind you?"

Thinking back on last night, I'm too distracted by the memory of the giddy look on Tommy's face to answer Alex's question. I'm probably grinning like an idiot, and he's probably rolling his eyes at how pathetically lovesick I am. I'd do something about it, but I'd rather just replay the mental image of Tommy jumping on that king size bed like a big kid.

"I rest my case."

It's not until he taps me on the knee and stands from the couch that I finally snap out of my Tommy daze and realize that I've just lost an argument due to my inability to focus. Strangely enough, for once in my life, I'm okay with that.

"I wonder if we'll be in a group together today." He ponders as I push myself off of the couch and follow him over to the door. "It's been forever since we jammed, I've got moves you haven't seen yet!"

"Well, even if it doesn't happen today, it'll definitely happen before the end of the week."

"Yeah... but I'm not the most patient person on the planet."

Very true. "I remember."

We're still busy bantering back and forth about what exactly it is I remember about his impatience when we step into the office to join everyone else. And when my eyes fall on Tommy's confused (and clearly insecure) expression, I feel like an idiot for not putting any thought into how it would look if Alex and I simply waltzed in here together like best friends. I doubt it really matters to anyone else (except Zac, who looks irritated beyond words... which I'll admit makes me feel a lot more self-satisfied than it probably should). But it matters to Tommy. I feel like I'm rubbing his nose in something that just the other night he was telling me he found difficult to deal with, but that wasn't my intention _at all_.

"Okay, day two!" Isaac announces, his tone a lot cheerier than it was this time yesterday morning. Possibly because I'm not late and giving him attitude today. "The groups for today are based on who we all worked with yesterday. We, well, _I_ 'redistributed' everyone so that the groups will be completely new." Sometimes I think Ike wishes he were a game show host or something. Or at least one of those announcer voices that lists off the prizes. Tell them what they've won, Ike! "So the groups for today are: Zac, Charlie and Liz. Carrick, Taylor and myself." Shit. That means... "And Meiko, Alex and Tommy."

There's nothing I can do but watch as Tommy glances over at Alex, a look of obvious distrust and dislike on his face before he turns his gaze to me. I can't tell if he's silently pleading with me to get him out of this somehow or silently telling me that he's going to kill me later for getting him into this situation in the first place. Either way, it's not good, and there's nothing I can do about it.

This is shaping up to be one hell of a _long_ day.


	42. Chapter 42

  


 

 

As soon as the groups dispersed to their designated studios and rooms, I tried to text Tommy and explain why I had been hanging out with Alex this morning. But the second I took my phone out of my pocket Ike started kicking up a fuss about "unnecessary distractions derailing the creative process", which led to a vote over whether cell phone should be switched off entirely. I lost, but on appeal I managed to get that ruling semi-overturned by reminding him that his wife and children are in another state and wouldn't be able to contact him in case of emergency if his phone is off. Unfortunately, the rule then became "incoming calls and texts only". And since Tommy apparently has no interest in calling or texting me right now, my phone is so silent that it may as well be switched off.

It's difficult for me to focus when I'm so preoccupied with wondering if he's mad at me. As usual, I didn't think far enough ahead to foresee how my actions could be misinterpreted by him. I wouldn't go into the main house with him this morning, but I did go into the pool house with Alex instead. He's probably wondering why I couldn't have spent that time with him. And if Ike would just let me use my damn phone, I could text him and explain everything.

God damnit, I hate my big brother sometimes.

Despite my restlessness and my absent mind, I still somehow manage to contribute to the songwriting. Maybe not as fully as I would under normal circumstances, but more than I expected I would when we first came into the family room to start throwing ideas around. It's always easy to write with Carrick, he and I have a similar sensibility when it comes to our music, and he's great at collaboration. Isaac and I tend to lock horns a lot more, probably because we're brothers and we're genetically programmed to disagree with one another over the dumbest things imaginable. Sometimes it feels as though I have some kind of outer body experience when we're bickering, and my other self will just be watching us and shaking it's head because it's so embarrassingly _pathetic_. I'll be completely aware that the things I'm nitpicking are petty and pointless, but I won't be able to stop myself. And I know that he does the same thing to me, it's just how we work. Hopefully, somewhere underneath all of the petty sibling crap, our inability to just let each other be right leads to our music being better than it would have been if we'd simply agreed on everything the whole time. 

At some point in the middle of the afternoon we take a brief break to grab some lunch, and I take that opportunity to go and see Tommy regardless of Ike's insistence that I not "bother" the other groups. He doesn't care about me bothering anyone, he just doesn't want me spending any more time with Tommy than I absolutely have to. But I do _absolutely_ have to speak to him right now. I need him to know what was going on between Alex and me this morning.

Or rather, that _nothing_ was going on between us.

As I make my way through the house, I overhear Zac's group playing the song they're working on in Studio B, and I can't help but smile to myself because of how different it sounds to anything else that I've heard written at Fools Banquet before. It reminds me again what I _love_ about this retreat and why we hold it every year. You can wander between groups and it could be as though you're wandering through three different musical eras or genres. You can go from the roaring twenties to the rock n' roll of the sixties just by walking between rooms. One group will be making acoustic folk music in the garage studio while another is making electronic eighties pop music in the pool house. No two songs are ever the same because no two groups are ever the same, and the musical tastes and influences of the people that make up each group are never exactly the same, either. Everyone brings something a little different, so every song sounds a little different.

My plans to talk things out with Tommy are foiled when I step into the main studio and find that he's busy recording. But I don't consider it a wasted effort at all because I get to hang out in the back of the room and watch him play bass for a while, which is _never_ a bad thing.

"Don't think I don't see you lurking in the shadows." Alex suddenly pipes up, unceremoniously tearing me out of the Tommy trance I was very happily lost in. "Did you come to 'borrow' our song ideas or just lust after our bassist?"

I can't believe him! Is he _trying_ to literally out me?! "I'm not _lusting_ , I just... I-"

"We are." Meiko sighs wistfully, her head tilting gently to the side in spellbound appreciation as she gazes at Tommy through the glass window of the recording booth. "Look at him! He's just so, so... _pretty_."

"Seriously." Agrees Alex, exhaling a similarly longing sigh. "I'd tap that."

"Right?"

Ryan laughs softly, shaking his head at them as he focuses his attention on the monitor in front of him rather than the obscenely attractive musician everyone else is staring at. "No comment."

I don't know whether to be highly amused or totally offended on Tommy's behalf. Then again, he probably wouldn't be offended, so me getting all worked up over this is pretty pointless. Highly amused it is!

Since my cover has been blown, I venture closer to the mixing desk and take a seat on the couch behind the chairs that Meiko, Alex, and Ryan are sitting in. I think I could sit here and watch Tommy play for hours, watch his fingers gently pluck the stings of the bass, watch him close his eyes and bob his head faintly to the music he's creating, watch as his lips form a deliciously tempting pout that I'd bet money he has no clue he's even making.

I swear, he makes music so fucking sexual, _sensual_ , without even trying!

"Sounds good, huh?" Meiko beams at me over her shoulder. "I think I like this song even more than yesterday's, and I _loved_ yesterday's!"

"Yeah, it sounds awesome."

"It's gonna be fucking amazing once we get the final vocals finished." Alex enthuses, swiveling his chair around to face me and give me his full attention. "Are you already done for the day? 'Cause we could use your help laying down some drums if you're free..."

"I wish, but we're not even close. I just..." Wanted to stop by and make sure that Tommy's animosity towards Alex wasn't killing any and all creativity in their group. Which it's obviously not. "I was just checking in."

"Keeping tabs." He smirks knowingly, and I don't even bother trying to deny it. "Well, as you can see, we're rockin' it."

"Looks like."

"We just started talking about our favorite bands, and Tommy said he loves Depeche Mode, and then I was like 'fuck yeah, Depeche Mode!', and... here we are." Have I mentioned how much I love the unifying power of music? Because I really, _really_ do."It actually kinda sounds a little Depeche Mode-y, don't you think? I mean, we weren't intentionally going for that or anything, but I guess it kinda crept in on its own."

"I'm glad you guys found some common ground."

"I doubt it's the _only_ thing we have in common."

That would be my cue to get out of here before he can come up with anything else to say that implies they've both fucked me. "Okay, well, I should get back to the pool house before Ike starts getting pissy and impatient. You remember what that's like."

Alex shudders at the thought, which leaves me laughing as I walk towards the stairs. "Thanks for stopping by! I'm sure Tommy will be sad he missed you."

"I'm sure he'll survive." I reply, casting a chastising glower at him that he seems completely unaffected by while he waves to me cheerfully on my way out.

I really hope those aren't the kind of comments he's been directing at Tommy all day. I'm assuming he's just taunting me because we're friends and he gets a kick out of it. Hopefully he wouldn't do it to someone he barely knows. But this is Alex we're talking about, and there's no telling what the hell he's going to do from one moment to the next. Half the time I don't think _he_ even knows. I just don't want Tommy thinking that Alex is privy to every detail of our relationship. And I _really_ don't want Meiko to start suspecting that something is going on. She didn't seem to, but we're only half way through the day so far and Alex has yet to learn the meaning of the word 'subtle'.

Before I have to go back to the land of no cell phones, I quickly send Tommy a text apologizing for blindsiding him this morning, and attempting to explain (without babbling, which is a challenge for me) what I was doing in the pool house with Alex. And as soon as I hit 'send', I feel bad because I don't want to interrupt him while he's in the recording studio. But then I remember that he's an expert at performing through outside distractions, and I figure that if he can continue playing while Adam has his tongue in his mouth, he can probably keep playing while his cell phone is vibrating in his pocket. If he even has it on. Maybe he doesn't.

There's a good chance that he doesn't even want to talk to me right now.

The rest of the afternoon seems to go by at an even slower pace than this morning did. Not that I'm not enjoying myself, because I rarely have a bad time when I'm making music, but sometimes the process goes a lot faster than it has today. I blame Ike. There, I said it. That's probably not fair, but I figure having someone to blame for everything is what older brothers are for. I know for a fact he thinks it's what younger brothers are for.

It's sometime around seven when we all agree that we're done for the day. Overall I think I'm happy with the final product. Being the insane perfectionist that I am, I always see room for improvement, but since this is supposed to be for fun I can let it go. Or pretend to let it go just so that I can leave this room.

Apparently Alex, Tommy and Meiko finished long before us and decided to celebrate by blowing up the kitchen. At least, that's what it looks like when we first step into the room. On closer inspection it turns out that they're trying to make dinner for everyone. We're having stir-fry with a side of holy-fuck-I-wish-we-had-a-maid. It smells good, even if it looks like half of it ended up all over the counter tops and floor instead of in the wok. And I have to admit, I kind of get a huge kick out of seeing Tommy doing 'domestic' things like cooking. Walking into this kitchen and seeing him standing by the stove makes it so easy to imagine waking up to the sight of him burning breakfast, or us making dinner together every night in an apartment that we both call home. Of course, most of the time that particular day dream generally takes a detour from cooking, and dinner winds up ruined because we got preoccupied with kitchen floor sex.

I both love and hate these little fantasies of mine. They're wonderful while they last, but the second they're over I'm left with nothing but the emptiness of knowing they'll never be real.

"You guys really, _really_ shouldn't have gone to all this trouble." Ike chuckles softly, surveying the damage as we venture further into the room, getting as close to the chaos as we dare.

"It's just our little way of saying thank you for inviting us all out here." Meiko replies, popping a piece of raw carrot into her mouth. "We're having a blast."

"That's sweet." He smiles, reaching for a piece of carrot only to have his hand smacked away by Alex. "Since it's a thank you, I guess that means you'll be taking care of the clean up, too?"

Tommy cringes and shakes his head regretfully. "We would really _love_ to..."

"We were just so excited to make you guys this delicious meal that we forgot to pay attention to where anything goes." Alex quickly finishes for him as they both nod innocently.

Could it be? Are they... getting along?

"How'd your day go?" Asks Tommy, looking directly at me.

It's almost as if he's talking _to_ me, and to be honest, it leaves me a little speechless for a second. "Uh... good. I think we came up with something we're all happy with."

"I can't wait until we all get to sit down together and hear what everyone worked on all week." Meiko exclaims giddily. "It's going to be like our own little album preview party or something."

As far as I can tell, that statement leads to an excited discussion about today's recordings and yesterday's, and this whole week in general. It's hard to know for sure, because I'm not really paying attention to it; my focus is entirely devoted to inconspicuously edging my way over to Tommy so I can try to say something to him without everyone else overhearing. Eventually I end up standing beside him at the stove, watching intently as he stirs the vegetables in the sizzling hot wok in front of him. It's like I can't speak until he eventually glances up at me, and the moment I see him smile I know that everything is okay between us.

"How'd _your_ day go?"

"Amazing." He grins so widely that it's impossible for me not to grin right back at him. "Honestly, I was kinda dreading it from the second Ike said I was gonna be in a group with... certain people. But-"

"Are you talking about me?" Alex suddenly cuts in, appearing right behind us and throwing an arm casually around each of our shoulders. "I thought I heard my name."

"You thought wrong." Tommy informs him harshly, though the playful gleam in his eyes completely contradicts his snappish tone and his straight face, and Alex seems to pick up on it, too.

"Oh. Well, now that I'm here, let's talk about me."

With a weary sigh, Tommy returns his attention to the wok on the stove. "Where to fucking start..."

"My devilish good looks?"

"Oh jeez." Here we go.

"My _obscene_ amounts of talent?"

"So you just want us to like... make shit up or something?"

Alex snickers to himself, completely unfazed and undeterred by Tommy's teasing as he exaggeratedly pecks him on the cheek. "You're fucking adorable, you know that?"

"I've heard rumors."

I have to say, it's incredibly strange to see the two of them getting along so well when only twelve hours ago Tommy seemed to pretty much hate Alex's guts. But it's a good kind of strange. I think. It's just going to take a little bit of getting used to.  

"For God's sake, would you two just get a room already?" Meiko teases, nudging Alex out of the way so that she can transfer the last of the vegetables on the cutting board to the wok. "And then invite me along so I can watch."

I should probably be jealous right about now. I have the distinct feeling that I _should_ be feeling incredibly unsure of myself and wishing Alex would go away and leave Tommy alone. But I don't feel that way at all. I'm smiling, I'm relaxed, I'm comfortable... it all feels _much_ too healthy. I guess trusting them both means that I can stand here and watch them flirt without going crazy worrying if they'll end up fucking by the end of the week. I know they won't, I know neither of them would do that to me. I feel... secure.

This must be what it's like to be a normal, emotionally stable person.

It's interesting.

I like it.

Zac's group still hasn't emerged from the studio by the time dinner is served up and on the table, so Ike goes to check on them and see if they're anywhere near finished. I'm not going to pretend that I'm disappointed when he returns five minutes later with the news that they're still working on their song and don't want us to wait for them because they could be a while. It's weird to think that this time last year Zac and I were still together. But now, looking back on it, I can't even figure out if I was still in love with him then. I don't know when that changed for me, if it's been years since I honestly felt it or if it was still there only a few months before everything ended.  It's especially hard to tell how I felt back then when I think about it now; all of the crap he's been pulling lately in an effort to make my life hell  has colored everything I feel for him, everything I _felt_ for him. It seems to taint it all, it makes it difficult for me to look at him and even feel that sense of regret I still had last year over how strained things were between us. It's like I don't recognize him anymore, I don't know if I _want_ to fix our relationship and be close to him again because... I'm not sure if I even like who he has become.

But maybe it's my fault. Maybe _I_ did this to him.

So much for being a normal, emotionally stable person.

Damn, I need a drink.

"Either of you want a beer?" I ask as Tommy, Alex and I share the task of washing and drying the dinner dishes.

How I got roped into cleaning up with them is a mystery to me. I should be sitting in the family room with everyone else, relaxing and enjoying that comfortable feeling of post-dinner fullness. But no, I wanted to be where the pretty boys were, so I had to volunteer to help do the dishes. No pain, no gain.

"You know what I want more than beer?" Alex replies, the smile on his face telling me that whatever the answer is it's going to make me roll my eyes.

"If you say sex, or anything related to sex, I'm going to knock you unconscious with this wok." I warn him with a playful glare.

"For your information, I was gonna say that I could totally go for some weed right now."

Tommy immediately turns to look at me, narrowing his eyes accusingly. "Yeah. You said there'd be weed, but I've been here two days and I haven't so much as caught a whiff of it!"

"Are you serious?" I chuckle, my gaze drifting back and forth between their expectant faces, trying to decipher whether or not either of them _actually_ wants to go and get high right now before I make any real offers.

"There are two things I never joke about." Alex informs me soberly. "Music and weed."

"What about sex?"

"Are you new? I joke about sex constantly."

Good point. "Okay, well... let's go."

"Where?" Tommy frowns, glancing at Alex to see if he's just as lost. "We don't have to go out and like actually buy  some do we?"

"No." I snort, leading them over to the back door and holding it open as I gesture for them to step outside ahead of me. "It's in the pool house."

"Are you fucking kidding me? I've been sleeping with your stash for the last two nights? Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because I wanted to make sure there'd be some left by the end of the first day."

"I'd be offended if that wasn't a totally fair point."

Life's a funny thing.

If you would have told me even twenty-four hours ago that I would be spending the rest of this evening hanging out with Alex _and_ Tommy, smoking pot and having more fun that I can remember having had in _years_ , I would have told you that _you_ were the one who'd been smoking something and maybe you should lay off of it for a while. And yet here I am, digging my "stash" out it's hiding place and listening to Tommy laughing while Alex gives us his lengthy (and slightly disturbing) "things I have been known to do while high and will accept no responsibility for" disclaimer.

I'm still not entirely sure how I ended up here, but I'm definitely not complaining.


	43. Chapter 43

  


 

 

You know how pot tends to make _everything_ seem more amazing than it usually is?

Okay, maybe you don't know, but I'm here to tell you that it does.

At least, that's always been my experience.

Tiny little things that I usually wouldn't care about or even notice suddenly become vitally important and completely fascinating. I can stare at the same spot on the wall for an hour and not get bored, it's like watching the most riveting TV show ever made. And the whole time, I just feel... warm. Warm, and safe, and... floaty. That's probably not a word, but it should be. There isn't a better word to describe the feeling I get. It's so fucking relaxing, like drifting gently along a quiet stream on a sunny summer's day...

I would spend my entire like high if I could.

I can't remember the last time I smoked pot. I used to do it a lot more; I can't count the number of times Alex and I got stoned together. But it was just one of the many things I cut back on when I assumed the role of 'responsible adult'. I didn't want to smell like weed when my kids hugged me, and Nat never would've let me hear the end of it if she'd ever caught me doing it after we got married. The only times I've done it since then were while we were out on tour, but even then it's still _very_ rare and usually only when the bands we're touring with are supplying the goods. And every time I do it, I wonder why I don't do it more often.

Because it's fucking awesome.

The experience is even better this time than it ever has been before. Not because I lucked out and happened to score myself some really good weed (although, I have to say, it _is_ pretty damn good), but because I'm doing it with Tommy. I mean, if everything is more incredible when you're high, imagine how beautiful the most insanely gorgeous person you've ever known must look. And he's like _right_ here, _right_ next to me! I could just sit here on the couch and stare at him all night and I'd be totally happy.

When he turns his head and finds me openly and unapologetically gazing right at him, a lazy smile slowly spreads across his flawless face. "What're you looking at?"

"Nothing." I lie, grinning back at him as he shifts even nearer to me on the couch, until our faces are so close that my eyes can barely focus on him.

Apparently, being high makes him oblivious to the fact that we've got an audience. Either that or it makes him so horny that he doesn't care who's watching. Based on the videos I've seen of his behavior in Amsterdam after he smoked pot on stage last year, and the fact that he just climbed into my lap and started kissing me even though Alex is lying on the floor about ten feet away and can see _everything,_ I'm gonna go with the latter.

And since pot has always had the same effect on me, I don't give a fuck either.

Well, okay, maybe I give a _slight_ fuck.

Don't get me wrong, I'm thoroughly enjoying the way he's writhing on top of me, his hips rhythmically rolling against mine as he breathlessly groans into my mouth. But in the back of my mind there's still a little voice telling me that we shouldn't do this in front of Alex, regardless of how much I'm sure he'd appreciate the show, and regardless of the fact that part of me kinda loves the idea of letting him watch. As tempting as the thought of giving him a voyeuristic glimpse into our sex life is, it's just one of many aspects of what I share with Tommy that I'm _not_ okay sharing with anyone else.

This is _mine_.

"Bedroom." I murmur against his lips, forcing him off of my lap as I fight to find my feet and remember how to stand up.

His mouth is on mine again at the earliest possible opportunity, and we uncoordinatedly navigate our way across the room, almost tripping over Alex's legs in our mindless haste. He laughs, and I hear him comment on how it's technically his bed so he should get to come, too. But I don't hear him trying to get up to follow us, so I don't bother trying to tear my mouth from Tommy's long enough to tell him that he's not invited and that I'll change the sheets later. And since I'm a charitable guy and I appreciate him giving us a moment alone to make the most of our marijuana induced arousal, I leave the door ajar so that he can at least enjoy the audio portion of the proceedings...

With both of us uninhibited and blissfully drowning in the heightened excitement that we're both obviously feeling, it definitely makes for an intense encounter. I know from experience that being high makes it easier for me to let go and do whatever the hell I feel like doing sexually, without questioning it or worrying about it before, during, _and_ after. And again, that seems to be something that Tommy and I have in common.

Except that it apparently has the opposite effect on our demeanors.

Usually I feel as though I'm at his mercy. There's something so confident and assertive about him when we're together, he tends to take the lead automatically and I gladly follow. Tonight, it's different. I honestly don't think I've _ever_ been this dominant during sex before. It's more than merely topping; I can top and still not feel completely in control. But it's as though he's giving himself over to me entirely, he's helpless and pliant beneath me, and something inside of me can't get enough of it. The more he shamelessly pleads with me and begs, the more powerful I feel. When I thoughtlessly grasp a fistful of his hair and pull him up against me, his back pressed to my chest, he cries out in an unrestrained, indecipherable mixture of pleasure and pain that drives me _completely_ crazy. And when I sink my teeth into the smooth, supple skin of his neck, it sends him over the edge so suddenly and so violently that, for a second, all I can do is watch and listen to him come, and wonder how it's at all possible that _I_ could ever have the power to make another person feel _so_ much, _so_ strongly.

Thoughts like those, coupled with the sensation him climaxing in my arms, are more than enough to leave me crying out his name as I come right along with him.

"God..." He gasps, panting out exhausted chuckles as he finally collapses onto his stomach on the sheets. "That was fucking _hot_."

"Amen."

Once he's found the strength to roll over and make himself comfortable I carefully lower my body onto his, my mouth caressing his throat in a much gentler manner than it was only a moment ago as my tongue tenderly soothes the faint, red indentations that my teeth left behind.

"That's gonna leave a mark." I smirk against his skin, feeling even more euphoric when he laughs softly.

"Good."

"Good?"

"I've always kinda had this like... fantasy of being bitten like that. Did I ever tell you?"

I raise my head, looking him in the eyes so that I can try to gauge how serious he is. "No."

"Well it's true." He confides with a playful smile.

"I guess it probably comes from your whole vampire fascination or something."

Again, he laughs. And again, it makes my whole body warm. "Maybe. I don't know, it just seemed like it'd be a huge turn on to have someone do that during sex, you know?"

"But no one's ever done it before?"

"Not like _that_. None of the girls I've been with really seemed to go for it. They'd bite my shoulder a little, maybe, but never my neck. Even if I flat out _asked_ them to bite me there, they'd just kinda like... nibble or something." I can't help giggling as he rolls his eyes, his fingers wandering the length of my sweat dampened spine. They slide down it like a ski slope and then hop their way back up one vertebra at a time. And all I can think is: _I could spend the rest of my life like this. Just like this._ "It was like fucking a chipmunk."

"Well, hopefully I at least achieved raccoon status." I tease, leaving him shaking his head at me but unable to keep a smile off of his face. "And I don't mean one of those lame raccoons that forages out of trash cans. I mean the rabid, rabies infested ones that eats the family dog on camping trips."

"Are you kidding me? There was _nothing_ raccoonish about it; that was some full on creature of the night shit!" He assures me so emphatically that I find myself laughing all over again.

"Raccoons are nocturnal, so technically they _are_ creatures of the night."

"I'm serious! If you actually had fangs I'd be bleeding out right now. I mean, _fuck_ , the whole thing was was _so_ fucking out of control. I don't even know how to explain it, it just... it makes you feel like you're totally defenseless and totally safe at the same fucking time, you know? It felt like you were completely taking me over, like you were claiming me or something."

Everything seemed so humorous until he chose to use that word, and now it all seems to have so much more weight. I don't know if he even realizes what he's said, but for whatever reason, his words struck something in me. "Do you _want_ me to claim you?"

I can't read the look in his eyes at all as he gazes up at me, but I know that I can't take the subtle hint of a smile on his lips as a sign of irrepressible joy. "Too late." He replies quietly, simply.

This feeling in my chest is indescribable. I can't define it as either good or bad, it's both. It's two completely different things at the exact same time, and I have no idea what to make of it. All I know is that I haven't felt such a strong urge to tell him exactly how I feel about him since the first time I ever did, when it was so overpowering that I couldn't contain it any longer and I blurted it out at a completely inappropriate moment. But this doesn't feel like an inappropriate moment. In fact, it feels like a perfect one.

"Tommy-"

"Don't." He interrupts me knowingly.

I sigh softly, my forehead falling gently against his as I hold his gaze until he eventually closes his eyes. It's as though he's trying to hide from me, and I want so desperately for him to stop. " _Please_ , let me say it."

"What's the point?"

He pushes me off of him. Really it's more of a nudge, but I'm so adrift in my own thoughts that it doesn't take much effort on his part to get me to cooperate. I stare after him as he gets off of the bed, gathering up his discarded clothes before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom without another word, leaving my lying alone on the bed with nothing but the last thing he said to me for company.

_What's the point?_

That's not a question I've ever asked myself before. It should be simple enough to answer, though. What's the point of saying "I love you"? To make the person you love aware of how you feel. To hopefully make them _feel_ loved.

Except that's not how it makes him feel. Or, if it is, in his mind it's not a good thing to feel loved.

Not by me, at least...

I can't really hold that against him. What sane person _would_ want me to love them? I'm a mess; my whole life is a mess. It's like I'm some kind of natural disaster, I leave destruction, chaos and confusion in my wake wherever I go. You may think I'm being melodramatic and self-pitying, but I'm not. I honestly feel like I'm cursed. Or maybe I just curse everyone I love. I curse them to a life of never having what they need because I'm incapable of giving it to them, one way or another. I curse them by wrapping myself in layers of lies so thick that it's nearly impossible for any of them to get through, and so they spend all of their time wondering if they even really know me at all. They live their lives in fear of losing me, because I won't ever truly let them in. Not my wife, not my siblings, not even my own kids.

If they didn't all depend on me _so_ much in _so_ many ways, I'd think it would just be better for me to cut ties and vanish from their lives entirely.

A few minutes later Tommy reemerges from the bathroom, fully dressed and fucking gorgeous as ever. And I'm still lying here on the bed, completely naked and in no way as ready to leave this room as he appears to be. When he speaks he sounds untroubled, like none of what happened before he went in there was real. But the red mark on his neck is proof that it did. And his inability to meet my eyes betrays his nonchalant tone.

"I'm hungry."

"Okay." I reply for lack of anything better to say, my eyes following him closely as he walks around to my side of the bed and grabs his shoes off of the floor before sitting on the edge of the mattress beside me. "What do you wanna eat?"

He ponders the question for a moment while he ties the laces on his creepers, and once he's done he finally turns to look at me. "Taco Bell."

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?!" He cries in outrage, slapping my bare chest so hard that I squeal like a girl and practically curl up into the fetal position. "Take me to Taco Bell, damnit!"

"I can't!" I laugh, already shielding myself with a pillow in case he attacks again. "I care about you too much."

"But I want a Crunchwrap Supreme!"

"We'll go to Taco Bueno."'

He wrinkles his nose, frowning at me like I'm talking nonsense. "Taco Whatnow?"

"Taco Bueno. It's like... okay, so say Taco Bell is the McDonalds of Mexican food. Taco Bueno would be like... the In-N-Out Burger of Mexican food."

"Do they have Crunchwrap Supremes?"

"I don't even know what that is." I relent with a sigh.

His mouth falls open in horror, but a split second later it's busy explaining to me what I've apparently been missing my whole life. "It's beef and cheese sauce and sour cream and lettuce and tomatoes and a tostada shell, and it's all wrapped up it in a tortilla and then like... grilled."

"It sounds like a heart condition waiting to happen."

"It's a fucking _orgasm_ in a tortilla!"

How can I say no to _that_? "I don't know where the nearest Taco Bell is. I can proudly say I've never bothered looking for one around here."

"That's why Satan invented iPhones." He replies, already pulling his phone out of his pocket and no doubt using the google maps app to search for any Taco Bells in the area.

I guess that means I should get dressed?

With a great deal of reluctance I practically roll off of the bed and start gathering up my clothes, which are scattered between the bedroom door and the bed like a trail of bread crumbs. Tommy insists on just _sitting_ there and watching me put my pants on, like it's some kind of choreographed routine that deserves his undivided attention. I can't decide if it's a turn on or if it makes me feel incredibly self-conscious.

Alex is still lounging on some cushions on the floor, right where we left him. And as soon as he sees us walking out of the bedroom he makes a show of zipping up his pants as if to imply he was out here giving himself a happy while listening to what we were doing back in there. I'm pretty sure he's just doing it to fuck with us, though. But, again, this is Alex we're talking about, so it honestly could go either way.

"We're going to Taco Bell." I inform him, trying my hardest to ignore the smirk on his face.

"Ew, why? You can't still be _that_ stoned, you haven't taken a hit in over an hour!"

For that comment, Tommy kicks him in the arm on his way over to the door. "Fuck you both. I want my damn Crunchwrap."

"What the fuck is a Crunchwrap?" Alex frowns at me, pushing himself up off of the floor and following us out of the pool house.

"Don't ask."

I'd love to just sneak out of the house without telling everyone else where we're going, but I know I'll only get endless amounts of shit for it if Ike or anyone else comes looking for me later and finds that we all left without a word. And lord knows the last thing I need in my life is _more_ shit. So on our way through the main house to the front door, I stick my head into the family room and interrupt whatever hilarious conversation it was that everyone else was engrossed in.

"I'm going to Taco Bell. Want anything?"

Isaac and Zac both look at me as though I've grown a couple of spare heads, because they both know me well enough to know that I'd have to be on something (and I kinda am) in order to voluntarily patronize Taco Bell. And everyone else is looking at me weirdly because we only just had dinner a couple of hours ago, and none of them have the munchies so they're not hungry again yet.

"Uh... are you serious?" Ike asks with an uncertain chuckle.

"Uh... yah."

"Are you _high_?"

I don't have the chance to answer before Alex snorts so loudly behind me that I'm pretty sure it didn't go unnoticed by anyone present. The look on Ike's face makes it extremely clear that he's now aware that I'm stoned (or _was_ stoned very recently, to be more accurate). And when he gets out of his seat and starts walking over to me, I don't know whether or not to be thankful for the fact that he's decided to bitch me out in private rather than doing it with an audience.

"What the hell are you on?" He practically hisses at me, literally pulling me aside to chastise me like I'm one of his kids rather than his brother.

"I smoked some pot. It's not like it's the first time, and it's not like you've never done it."

"And you really think it's the smartest idea to get behind the wheel of a car right now?"

"I'm fine." I insist, touching the tip of my nose with the index finger of my left hand and then my right. And then repeating the action several times just to prove a point. Which leaves both Tommy and Alex snickering uncontrollably behind me. "You want me to sing the chorus of 'MMMBop' backwards? 'Cause I will if it'll make you feel better."

"You know what would make me feel better?" Oh boy, here it comes. I guess I left myself wide open for this one. "It'd make me feel better if you started acting more like a responsible, twenty-eight -year old _married_ man instead of a fucking teenager."

"He's just having a little fun, Ike." Alex tells him, his tone full of amusement. "Lighten up, man."

Isaac glances over my shoulder, his eyes narrowing scornfully at Alex before flitting to Tommy. And even though it didn't seem possible, his expression becomes even stonier than before. "If you ask me, you're having a little too much 'fun', and you should grow the fuck up before you do something you'll regret."

I didn't ask him, but as usual that hasn't stopped him from throwing his two cents at me anyway and totally obliterating what was left of my high.

"Thanks for the brotherly advice." I retort pointedly, offering him a tight smile before turning and heading for the door with what I'm sure Ike considers to be my two partners in crime in tow.

Maybe he's right, maybe I am acting like a teenager. But when I was a teenager I was acting like a responsible, twenty-eight-year old married man. I rarely got to do stupid shit like smoking pot and going to Taco Bell with my friends, I was always worried that I'd be seen by the wrong person and it would end up in a magazine. Or that it would get back to my parents or my wife and I'd never hear the end of it.

I just want to know how it feels to be free for once. I want to be careless and spontaneous, I want to have fun without having to factor in the opinions and needs or half the damn world.

What's so wrong with that?

On second thoughts, I withdraw the question.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm an idiot. I went to post this chapter last night when I was half asleep and wound up deleting the ENTIRE story. :( I've spent the last hour and a half re-posting every chapter. I'm sorry it broke people's bookmarks and all of your guy's wonderful comments are gone. :( Believe me, I appreciated every last word of feedback you left me until this point. <3

  


 

 

I wish I could say that my "fuck the world, I'm free!" attitude lasted all the way to Taco Bell, but sadly it barely made it to the end of the driveway. I didn't say anything about it out loud, because I didn't want to ruin Alex and Tommy's fun, but almost as soon as we left the house I regretted my behavior. It's hard not to; it goes against everything I've been trying to be for the last twenty-eight _years_. I don't let myself act like this because it's too addictive. It's like giving myself a taste of something I know I can't have more of. I can feel myself starting to slip, feel my resolve to be this responsible, grown-up family man weaken. The clean edges of this picture perfect life I've tried to create begin to smudge, lines I promised I wouldn't cross start to look fuzzy...

I don't know when or how to stop myself.

"The nearest Taco Bell is like... half an hour away." I hear Tommy inform me from the passenger seat as the main gate of the property opens and I pull out onto the street. "That's so fucking lame. How do people live like this?"

"They develop better taste in food." I retort as playfully as I can, trying my hardest to push all of my worries and second thoughts out of my mind. At least for a little longer. "There's better Mexican junk food a lot closer."

"I don't want better, I want a damn-"

"Crunchwrap." I nod knowingly, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "So which way am I going?"

"Uh..." He glances up from his phone, looking around us for a road sign or any other landmark that will help him figure out where we are. "Left... I think. Is this Hectorville Road?"

"Hectorville? _Seriously_?" Snickers Alex, sprawled out lazily across the back seat. "Yee-haw, we in Oklahoma now, boys!"

Despite my quickly fading high, and the all too serious thoughts swimming around in my head, it actually _is_ a fun drive. Tommy plugs my iPhone into the stereo (as always), and as soon as Aerosmith starts blasting through the speakers, we're all singing along and rocking out on air guitar (well, _they_ are, I'm trying to resist since at least one of my hands should probably remain on the wheel...). I wouldn't be surprised if my car actually looked as though it was bouncing around on the expressway.

Just over half an hour later, I'm pulling up to the window at a Taco Bell drive-thru in Jenks (which isn't something I ever anticipated doing in my entire life, let alone over the course of this evening). Tommy orders not one but _two_ heart-attacks-in-a-tortilla, while Alex and I play it a little safer and opt for a couple of bean burritos. As soon as I've paid and the food has been handed to me, Tommy is practically snatching it out of my hands and rooting through the bag for his precious Crunchwrap. And I don't use the term "precious" loosely; he's like a really hot version of Gollum right now. I can't help but laugh to myself as I think back to Alex's comment about him being an elf the other night. Maybe this is what it would've looked like if Legolas had gone all ring-crazy.

 For the first minute or two after we have our food, the only sounds in the car are those of plastic bags rustling and paper being unwrapped and discarded. And then the eating begins...

"Oh my God." Alex groans through a very obvious mouthful of burrito.

"Right?"  Grins Tommy, turning in his seat to see Alex's reaction to his first bite. "It's _so_ fucking good."

"It's _really_ not."

The stunned look on Tommy's face is so genuine that I almost choke on my food as laughter begins to bubble up in my throat. He's staring at Alex as though he just said the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. I guess this would be considered a bad time to tell him that this isn't the best burrito I've ever had in my mouth.

"You're fucking crazy." He shakes his head, taking another bite of his Crunchwrap before turning his attention to me. "You like it, right?" I don't want to lie, so I just keep chewing... even though I finished my mouthful about five seconds ago. "What is _wrong_ with you two? Here!"

Next thing I know, he's shoving his Crunchwrap in my face, pushing it against my lips until I eventually open my mouth and take a bite. I'm sure he thinks the smile on my face right now was caused by this shitty food he's making us eat, but honestly I'm just getting a kick out of how determined he is to change my mind. And I'll admit that I also kinda like the fact that he's sharing his beloved Crunchwrap with me.

I know, I'm weird.

"See? It's good!"

"I hate to admit it... but that actually does taste a lot better than I was expecting."

"Told you!"

"I wish I could try it and see for myself, but I don't eat meat." Sighs Alex so dramatically that it's obvious he's not actually disappointed about it at all. "Fuck my life!"

Somehow, in amongst all of the eating and bickering, I manage to drive in the wrong direction, almost taking us even further out of our way than we've already come. But in trying to navigate the car back towards the expressway, I end up inadvertently taking us to Riverwalk Terrace, which is home to a bunch of shops and restaurants that we have absolutely no use for right now (especially since almost all of them are closed for the night). So it surprises me when Alex suddenly reaches out and grabs my shoulder to get my attention before directing me to pull over.

God, I hope he's not about to hurl Taco Bell all over my crappy car!

"We have to go in there!" He insists, already opening the back door of the car even though I haven't actually parked yet.

" _Where_?" I frown, my eyes following him as he steps up onto the sidewalk and points up at the sign on the building in front of us.

"Is he still high?" Tommy asks somewhat seriously, and all I can do is shrug in response because I honestly have no idea at this point.

"Come on! It'll be awesome!"

It _does_ seem to be just crazy enough to be awesome. Besides, what could really go wrong? It's a video game arcade; it's not like we can get into _too_ much trouble in there...

"You up for it?" I ask Tommy hopefully, watching him glance back and forth between me and Alex before a devilish smirk graces his lips.

"You know it."

I find a spot to park while Alex waits impatiently for us in front of Fun House. I haven't felt this much like a teenager since I was one. If I don't think too much, I can pretend this is real. I can let myself believe that I'm just some regular guy with no real responsibilities who hangs out with his boyfriend and his friend on Saturday nights and does stupid shit like crashing a kid's arcade. I _really_ need to not think too much, because if I do the illusion shatters.

If I do... I'll realize that this is what my life _could've_ been.

Fuck, I'm doing it already.

"Don't think," Tommy tells me, giving me a look that lets me know he's got a vivid idea of what's going on in my head right now and he wants me to let it go. "Just do."

I love that he knows when I'm too stuck in my own thoughts and I'm starting to spiral down, that he doesn't even have to ask, and that he'll simply tell me to stop. Not enough people in my life see me that clearly, not even  my wife. I think my brothers might be the only people who can tell when I'm over-thinking something, but usually when they tell me to get over it it's because my second guessing is holding up the recording process, or delaying something else that affects them, and they want to move on.

There's nothing self-motivated about this, though. He's not saying it for his sake, he's saying it for mine.

_Don't think, just do._

Sounds easy enough.

With a deep breath, I unbuckle my seat belt and we exit the car to meet Alex on the sidewalk. He throws an arm cheerfully around my shoulder and gives it a squeeze of encouragement, probably sensing that I'm more than a little wary about this whole thing. It's not like it's no big deal for me to be running around my home town acting like a total idiot. Yes, it's _a lot_ of fun, but so is a night of partying before the morning after hangover.

"Dude, I'm so torn!" He sighs dramatically as the three of us come to a gradual halt just inside the entrance of the arcade. "Skee Ball or DDR? I don't know where to start!"

"I'm like... the DDR _champion_ of Burbank." Announces Tommy proudly. "I've made everyone who's ever challenged me my bitch."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well maybe it's time that changed." Alex gibes playfully, giving Tommy a goading  poke in the chest.

"Bring it!" Retorts Tommy coolly, prodding him right back.

"Consider it brought!"

 _This_ could get interesting.

I'd never thought of DDR as anything but lame before tonight, but after spending twenty minutes watching Tommy and Alex battle dance their asses off, I'm beginning to discover a new found appreciation for it. I mean, okay, neither of them are all _that_ good at it, in fact they both look a little stupid. But in a _really_ hot way... if that even makes sense. I can't explain it; two grown men jumping around to terrible music isn't exactly pornographic, but for whatever reason it's kind of a turn on. Maybe it's less about the 'dancing' and more about the smack talk. The more they taunt and name call, the more aroused I seem to get by the whole thing.

Yes, I am completely aware that I have problems.

Eventually Tommy fends off Alex's attempts to steal his DDR crown, maintaining his title as DDR champion, and we move on to some games that require a little less physical exertion. As much as I love making music, and as cool as most of the other people back at the house are to hang out with, this is hands down the most fun I've had since Fools Banquet started. Hell, this is the most fun I've had in months. I wish I could do this every Saturday night. Not even exactly this, it doesn't matter where we go or what we do, I just want to spend my time doing nothing at all with Tommy (and Alex isn't exactly a drag to be around, either). I want to see him smile, listen to him laugh... I want to be the one to _make_ him laugh, because it gives me the kind of rush that I've only ever been able to get from performing.

After Alex finishes kicking my ass at a very competitive game of Air Hockey, I turn to Tommy for consolation (or unrestrained mocking; it could go either way), but I find that he's gone. He was here a few minutes ago, and unless I was so engrossed in the game that I didn't hear him, he didn't say he was going anywhere. But he's definitely not here now.

"Where'd Tommy go?"

Alex shrugs, his eyes conducting a quick sweep of the arcade before returning to my face. "No clue. I was too busy wiping the table with you to see where he went."

"That's weird..."

"He probably just went to the bathroom."

He probably did, but I can't resist pulling my phone out of my pocket and texting him to be sure. And less than a ten seconds later, I have my answer.

_Come find me._

I'm almost sure that's not an invitation to get another bathroom stall blow job, but my heart skips a beat over the slightest hint of a possibility that maybe that's exactly what he's implying.

_Where are you?_

It's as though I can feel him watching me, and I know that if he is, he's getting an immense kick out of how clueless I must look right about now.

_Go left._

As nervous as this whole hide and seek think is making me, it's undeniably exciting, too. I have no idea what he's got planned for me when I find him, but I sure as hell can't wait to find out.

"I'm uh... I'm gonna go look for him."

"'Kay. I'm gonna go get some nachos."

The second Alex turns and starts walking off towards the restaurant area, I follow Tommy's command and make a beeline to my left. The only thing that stops me from walking into a wall is a text that simply tells me I'm "getting colder", so I quickly turn on my heel and head back the way I came. I'm glad everyone is too preoccupied with their games to notice the weirdo walking at a snail's pace through the middle of the arcade, pausing after every step and glancing at his phone, waiting for the next clue to guide him on his treasure hunt.

_Warmer..._

I don't want to smile. I _really_ don't. I'm sure he's enjoying all of this way too much, and I don't think he deserves to know that I am, too. But I can't help it. Who _does_ this? No one in my life challenges me the way he does, not even in these random, seemingly meaningless little ways.

_Warmer..._

It takes all the self-control I have to keep from yelling "where are you?!" at my phone. I swear, when I find him, I'm going to kiss him like there's no tomorrow. I don't even care who sees us; he's got me so worked up that I can't think straight.

_So fucking hot._

I freeze and look up from my phone, my little Tommy detector, expecting to see him standing there in front of me. But he's not. I still don't see him anywhere. All I see is a bunch of teenage boys in front of me, some crappy looking racing game to my right... and a photo booth to my left. And unless I'm very much mistaken, the tight black jeans and creepers I can see below the edge of the red curtain that's pulled closed across the booth belong to the very person I've been looking for.

Sure enough, when I peel the curtain back, I find Tommy sitting in the photo booth with an innocent little smile on those perfect lips of his. "Hi."

"Hey."

"What's up?"

He shrugs casually, shifting a little further along the plastic bench he's sitting on until there's enough room for me to join him. "Just... hanging out."

"Oh yeah?"

"You should try it."

That's all the invitation I need to slip into the booth with him and tug the curtain closed behind me. It's a little cramped, but that just makes it more fun. I don't need to make excuses to be near him, it's unavoidable, and I can tell from the satisfied smirk on his face that he's more than happy to have me practically on top of him. At first I figured that he chose to hide us away in here because it was as private as we could get right now without retreating to a public restroom (again), which is why I'm surprised when he leans forward and feeds a few dollar bills into the slot beside the screen. A computerized female voice tells us to push the start button when we're ready, and after he taps it quickly, the voice begins counting down from three to one.

I don't even really have time to think of a pose before the picture is taken, but he planned ahead enough to give me bunny ears with his fingers. When the next countdown starts we assume ridiculous facial expressions that involve us having our tongues sticking out and our eyes crossed, and then in the next shot we're both voguing. As the final countdown begins he playfully attempts to push my face out of the shot entirely, but I give as good as I get. The end result is a strip of four black and white pictures that has us both giggling at how stupid we look. But as awful as the photos are, they're possibly some of my favorite pictures I've ever taken.

I look _happy_.

I _am_ happy.

"Okay, let's do another one." He proposes as his laughter dies down and he reaches over me to pull the curtain closed once again.

"Do you wanna do the same poses as last time?"

His response is to simply smile at me before closing the small distance between us to cover my lips with his own. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear that computerized voice counting down from three to one again and again. But I'm so wrapped up in this kiss that I lose track of how many times it does it. Even once I'm sure it's stopped, _I_ don't want to stop. Unfortunately, we need to; the booth is about to print out photographic evidence of what we're doing in here, and anyone walking by outside will be able to see them (or worse, walk off with them).

"They turned out pretty good."  He muses, resting his chin on my shoulder as he looks down at the strip of pictures in my hand.

They turned out better than good, they're gorgeous. And I wish more than anything that I could keep them. But it's too dangerous for them to remain in my possession. I can't risk Natalie finding them. "You should take them."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." I smile faintly as I force myself to hand the pictures over to him, unable to take my eyes off of the small black and white images of our lovingly locked lips. "They're safer with you."

"Good point." He agrees resignedly, taking the photo paper from me carefully. "Do you want the other ones?"

I probably shouldn't. Not that there's anything incriminating about them; they're just pictures of two guys acting like total dorks. But any pictures of us together could potentially pose a problem. I should be smart (for once) and tell him to take them all...

I just can't bring myself to say it, or to stop myself from taking the pictures from him when he holds them out to me.

We're in the middle of one last, lingering kiss when someone knocks on the side of the booth and reminds us that we're still very much in a building full of other people. It stops my heart for a second, causing me to panic even though all they can see of us is our legs, and after taking a couple of seconds to compose myself, I turn and pull the curtain open. I guess I should have expected to see Alex grinning back at me, but I stupidly didn't give him enough credit.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing." I reply pointedly, placing the palm of my hand against his smug-looking face and pushing it out of the way so that we can get out of the booth. "How'd you find us?"

"Well, you weren't anywhere out here, and I checked the men's room but it was empty. I was about to call your cell when I saw the photo booth. You're one of the only people I know who can squeeze their ass into a pair of jeans _that_ tight."

My attempt to scowl at him fails completely. I'm in too good a mood to even feign being annoyed right now. Besides, it's true; sometimes I don't even know how I manage to get my jeans on.

We spend another hour or so playing games and eating crappy arcade food, until finally it's closing time and we're forced to leave along with the last few patrons still roaming around. Since it's so late, and there are barely any other people around, I don't feel _too_ audacious snaking my arm around Tommy's waist as the three of us walk across the empty parking lot to my car. He leans against me tiredly, yawning loudly into the silent night air in a way that's so adorable that it makes it impossible for me to let him go once we get to the car.

"Here." I unlock the doors before holding my keys out to Alex. "Try not to kill us."

"I get to pilot the Crapmobile?" He gasps in much exaggerated glee. "Oh happy day!"

"Just stay under sixty and watch out for ice."

"Yes, sir!"

After I've successfully helped Alex navigate back to the expressway, a remarkably comfortable quiet settles over the three of us. The only sound in the car is coming from the soft hum of the road rushing by beneath us, and the music on the stereo, which is turned down much lower than it was on the drive out here. Tommy begins the journey slumped against me, but five minutes into the drive he shifts around on the back seat until he's lying down with his head resting in my lap. At first I can tell that he's still awake, I can see the light reflecting in his eyes as they stare straight ahead at the faint glow of the console. It's not until my fingers find their way to his hair and begin combing gently through it that they slowly drift shut.

I'm so preoccupied with staring at him that I don't even realize that Alex is watching me in the rearview mirror until I hear him speak, and I look up to see his smug reflection gazing back at me.

"You've got it _bad_ , huh?"

"Shut up."

"Look at you! You can't take your eyes off of him." He teases in that patronizing tone people use to mock their friends when they're in love. No one's ever used it on me before, though. "It's so damn adorable."

I can feel my cheeks burning, but thankfully it's too dark back here for him to be able to see it. "Just... keep your eyes on the road, okay?"

"I am. I'm watching the road and I'm watching you. I'm an _excellent_ multi-tasker."

"Yeah? Well I wish you wouldn't multi-task while driving my car."

"You shouldn't have given me the keys then, should you?" He smirks, glancing over his shoulder at me to ensure that I see the triumphant look on his face. "Besides, if I total it you can buy something less shitty with the insurance money."

"It's not _that_ bad."

"It's not that good, either. This is so not the kind of car I ever would have pictured you driving. You belong in like... I don't know. Something a lot less soccer dad-ish. Something more like the car that girl was driving in your music video."

"Which music video?" I chuckle softly in confusion.

"It was years ago, back when you first went indie. Fuck, what was it called? It had that cute blonde chick in it."

" _Penny and Me_?"

"Yeah! That's it! And she was driving that hot little convertible."

"The GTO?" God, I _loved_ that car... "Not exactly the most practical purchase when you have four kids"

"Never said it was. I just said it's more you than this is."

It is more me. At least, it's the me I've always wished I could be. But it's been a _long_ time since I made decisions like which car to buy based on what _I_ wanted or what suited _me_ best. A GTO wouldn't work with the life I lead. It would just sit in the garage under a dust sheet for months on end, and every time I so much as thought about starting the engine and taking it out for a drive, just me and the open road, there'd be a diaper to change, or an 'owie' to kiss better, or a screaming match to referee. It would never see the light of day, like so many other parts of who I really am.

If I could choose, though, I'd have a GTO. I'd have a GTO, and I'd live on the west coast, and I'd drive along Pacific Coast Highway at sunset with the top down and the radio blasting every damn chance I got. And Tommy would be right there beside me.

 _If_ I could choose.

But I can't.

"Are you in love with him?"

"What?"

"I'm just curious." Alex pries gently. "I mean, we've established that he's more than just a fuck buddy, and it's obvious you care about him a lot... I'm just wondering exactly how much."

"Does it matter?" I ask, suddenly feeling so awkward that I unintentionally shift a little in my seat. Thankfully, Tommy doesn't seem to stir from his sleep.

"I guess not. Like I said, I was just wondering."

I could just let it go. If I keep my mouth shut, the conversation will be over and we can go back to the comfortable quiet we were existing in before. It would be the easy thing to do. Which is probably why I find it so impossible.

"Completely." I eventually admit, my eyes trained on the ever changing shadows passing over Tommy's delicate features. "I'm _completely_ in love with him."

"I figured." Replies Alex, his voice soft, sympathetic.

"I've never met anyone like him. Half the time I can't even figure out if he's actually _real_." I hear him laugh quietly, and even though I wasn't kidding, I find myself smiling, too. I know how ridiculous it sounds, but it doesn't make it any less true. "He just... he brings something out in me-"

"He brings _you_ out in you."

"It's more than that. It's like he sees things that no one else sees. He sees parts of me _I_ forgot were even there... he reminds me of who I am, who I want to be. I feel more like myself just having him here, even when he's not saying or doing anything."

"Do you think there's _any_ chance you'll ever get to be together? Like _really_ together?" He asks, his pessimistic tone implying that he already knows the answer.

As I stare down at Tommy, I notice his eyes slowly open. He turns his head to gaze up at me, but I can't tell from the expression on his face if he's aware of anything that either of us has said until now. I don't know if he heard Alex's question or not. All I can do is answer as honestly as I can, my eyes locked unwaveringly with his.

"I don't know."

 


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *runs for cover*

  


  


 

 

 

I was dreading getting back to the house, because I wasn't sure if luck would remain on my side and allow me to spend another night with Tommy rather than going home alone. But to my surprise (and immense gratitude), Alex tells us that he'll sleep on the couch and we can stay in what was supposed to have been his bed. He makes some crude joke about not wanting to sleep on our "crusty sex sheets", but I know that the real reason he's willing to sacrifice his bed for a much less comfortable sofa is so that we can stay together without having to think up excuses or sneak around.

Tommy hasn't said a word since we left the arcade. After waking up on the car ride home, he merely rolled over and went back to sleep as though nothing had happened. And for all I know, in his mind, nothing did. Maybe he never heard a word of the conversation that Alex and I were having, and so I'm just reading too much into his silence. I feel like I have two choices here: I can pretend everything is fine and potentially ignore the fact that I might have upset him, or I can ask him if he's okay. But if I ask him if he's okay and he really _didn't_ hear anything, then I'm just going to bring it to his attention that I think something is wrong.

It's a no-win situation, which isn't surprising considering that most of the time it feels like my entire life is one giant no-win situation.

"Weird night." Great start, Taylor. You didn't sound awkward _at all_.

"Yeah."

"Definitely not what I expected going into it." He smiles faintly at me from the other side of the bed, toeing off his shoes without a word. "It was a lot of fun, though..." The only response I get is a nod before he turns his back to me and sits down on the edge of the mattress. Any hope I had that he didn't overhear our conversation has all but died out at this point, but I make one last ditch attempt to prove myself wrong. "And I've gotta admit, that Crunchwrap thing wasn't as bad as I expected."

 _That_ gets a genuine smile out of him. "Told ya."

I wish I could let that  smile be enough, but it's just not. Yes it's better than nothing, but it didn't help to shake the anxiety and doubt from my mind. "Are you okay?"

"Sure."

Sure? That's not an answer. Yes or no would have been an answer, or even "I don't know" would make sense. Saying "sure" is like saying "no, I'm not okay, but if it'll make you feel better I'll fake it". I don't want him to fake how he feels, not with me.

"Tommy-"

"Just... forget it, okay?"

"Forget what?" I sigh, getting onto the bed beside him and waiting for him to look up from the polish he's picking at on his nails and meet my eyes. But he doesn't. "Is this about... what Alex and I were talking about before?"

He finally raises his head, but he directs his attention to the wall at the end of the bed rather than me. "Look, it's fine. I mean, it's nothing I didn't already know."

"Yeah, but-"

"Taylor, seriously, I'm okay." He insists, shifting further onto the bed and settling down without bothering to take his jeans and hoodie off. "I'm tired as fuck, but I'm okay."

I could push him to talk about this, or I could just let it go and let him sleep. I'm pretty sure that pushing the matter is just going to result in our exhaustion and frustration getting the better of both of us and we'll end up fighting. But if I let it go, I get to curl up with him on this bed and get some much needed rest. So, for once, I go with the option that _doesn't_ ruin an otherwise great night and leave me alone and filled with regret.

Alex wakes us up early the next morning with a boisterous and over the top rendition of _I Touch Myself_. I should probably hate his guts for it, but it's only because of him that I get to wake up with Tommy at all today, so I guess I have to cut him some slack. Once he's sure we're fully conscious, he announces that he's going to take a shower. And then he invites us both to join him. I let the singing slide, but I can't let that comment go without hurling a pillow at him and telling him to go fuck himself.

"I wonder what he'd do if one of us went in there and tried to get in the shower with him." Tommy snickers through a yawn. "Do you think he'd actually go for it?"

"I don't think he would." I reply, smiling knowingly at the closed bathroom door. "I _know_ he would."

"Are you even a _little_ bit tempted to go in there right now?"

Honestly? Not really. Some tiny part of me is, but it's just the horny, stupid part that remembers how hot things used to be between us. The rational part of me wouldn't even consider it. The only person I really want to be with is lying beside me in this bed, not showering in that bathroom.

"Are _you_?" I shoot back teasingly in an attempt to avoid answering the question myself.

He shrugs, rolling over and burying his face in a pillow, trying to hide his smile from me. "No."

"You totally are!"

"So are you!"

"Nuh uh!" I'm such a liar.

"You're such a fucking liar."

Even though he doesn't really know why I'm laughing right now, he laughs right along with me. I swear his laugh is one of my favorite sounds in the world. It's like hearing my favorite song, it leaves my whole body buzzing with the most incredible excitement and sense of satisfaction. And even if I couldn't hear it, if I was deaf and I could only _see_ the amusement shining in those warm, brown eyes of his, it would be more than enough to make me happy.

"Just think, this time yesterday morning you hated his guts. And now you wanna shower with him." I tease, earning myself another rather painful slap on the chest. "What a difference a day makes, huh?"

"Totally. This time yesterday morning I wanted you to fuck me, but I totally don'tanymore."

" _Now_ who's lying?"

I've just successfully pinned him to the bed when my phone starts to ring. Normally I'd ignore it... but it's Natalie's ringtone, and I know that if I ignore her to have sex with the guy I'm cheating on her with, I'll feel like absolute shit for the rest of the day.

"I have to get this." I apologize, and I can tell from the disappointed yet understanding look on his face that he knows who it is. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

Reluctantly, I roll off of him and force myself off of the bed, because even _I_ have enough of a conscience to not be able to talk to my wife while I'm lying in bed with him.  "Hello?"

"Hey, I didn't wake you, did I?" She asks, and though her tone is as buoyant as ever, I've been married to her long enough to detect that underlying, indefinable _something_ that means I'm probably about to be told off.

"No, I was awake." I assure her awkwardly, chancing a look over my shoulder at Tommy (who is currently pretending to be fascinated by the ceiling fan). "What's up? How's your trip going?"

"Great! I missed everyone here _so_ much, it's be so fun catching up and hanging out."

"Good, I'm glad. Are the kids having a good time?"

She laughs softly. "Of course. Matty's been spoiling them rotten, as always."

"Awesome." That means he's probably given them enough candy already that they'll be hopped up on sugar for a month after they get back. "Remind me to thank him later."

"I will." There's a pause. A long, loaded pause that I know I'm not allowed to break. I just have to sit here and wait for her to work up the nerve to bring up whatever it is she really called me to talk about. "So... how's Fools Banquet going?"

"It's... good. Everyone seems to be having fun and enjoying it. We've written some really awesome stuff already."

"Good." Another pause. I have to admit, I'm getting a little nervous here. I don't know how she'd know that Tommy is here, and even if she did she has no reason to suspect anything... but I still get the feeling she knows I'm hiding something. "I was on twitter this morning and I saw a couple of pictures Zac posted last night." Oh God... what did he do now? "There was a guy in one of them who looked a lot like Alex Greenwald..."

Shit. "Oh... yeah. Uh... Zac invited him."

"You never told me he was going to be there."

"I guess I didn't think about it." I lie, my stomach twisting itself into the same nauseating knots it always ends up in when I have to deceive her.

"You know how I feel about him, Tay. I don't trust him."

"He's not a bad guy, Nat." I sigh tiredly, walking out of the bedroom and into the main living area just so I'm doing something other than standing around feeling cornered and powerless. Besides, there's more room to pace out here. "I know you think he was a bad influence on me or whatever, but-"

"He _was_ a bad influence! You were always so different when you were around him; you started smoking and drinking-"

"I started smoking and drinking long before I ever met Alex-"

"But you did it _more_ when you were around him!" She accuses, and as much as I wish I could deny it, I know it's true. "And he never liked me-"

"That's not true! You met him _once_ , Nat, he didn't even know you!"

"You can tell when someone doesn't like you, Taylor, you can feel it. He thought I was just some silly fangirl, I could tell by the way he talked to me. He treated me like I was an infatuated little groupie, not your girlfriend!"

She's right, but admitting that isn't going to help my argument here. "He didn't!"

"So he never _once_ said a bad word about me while we were dating?"

"No." I meant for that to sound a lot more convincing than I think it probably did. "Never."

"I don't believe you! Everything was great between us until you started spending time with him. The more you hung around him, the more distant you acted with me. And then suddenly you were always too busy to talk, that was when you even bothered to answer your phone. You started avoiding me, and then you just broke up with me out of the blue! Don't tell me that had _nothing_ to do with him."

"It didn't!" I exclaim in frustration, though at least I'm being honest this time. Well... mostly. "I told you before, I was going through a lot back then, with the record label jerking us around all the time and everything... I was overwhelmed and I just needed some space. It wasn't about you _or_ him." It was about Zac and me being a total closet case. "He didn't talk me into breaking up with you." Although he did try to talk me out of marrying her. "I get that you wanted to blame someone for our breakup, but _I'm_ the only one you should blame, Alex never did anything wrong."

"I don't want to fight about this." She mumbles miserably, making me feel more wretched than I already did (but probably not as wretched as I deserve to). "I just want you to stay away from him."

"Nat-"

"You _promised_ me." She presses emotionally, a vulnerable waver in her tone that instantly brings to mind images of teary eyes and quivering lips. Fuck my life. "I get that he's there now, and if you end up in a group with him you can't just ignore him, but that doesn't mean you have to spend time with him outside of the studio."

What do I do here? Do I tell her I'll keep my promise but secretly do the opposite, or do I flat out tell her no? In one scenario I keep her happy with a lie, in the other I upset her with the truth. In the past, I always would have done the former.

But for whatever reason, that's not the choice I'm making today.

"I can't do that, Natalie."

"Excuse me?"

"I said I can't do that. I _won't_ do that. He's my friend, and I hadn't spoken to him for _years_ until this week. I'm not willing to cut him out of my life again for no reason."

" _No_ reason?!"

"I know you don't like him, but... that's not enough. It's not enough of a reason for me to give up one of the best friends I've ever had. I did it once and I've regretted it ever since. I won't do it again, so don't ask me to."

Silence.

She doesn't say a word. The quiet lasts for so long that I seriously start to think that she might have hung up on me. That is, until I hear the unmistakable sound of our youngest son crying in the background.

"I need to go and check on Viggo." She informs me irritably. "We can finish talking about this when I get back to Tulsa."

As far as I'm concerned, the conversation is already over. "Fine."

I don't even receive a requisite "love you" before she really does hang up on me, which is good because it means I don't have to force myself to say it back. But it also means she's severely pissed at me, and that's something I always try to avoid. I prefer to keep things as simple as possible when it comes to my marriage; if she's happy she's more likely to give me the freedom I _need_ to stay sane.

She's definitely _not_ happy right now.

"You okay?"

Tommy's voice pulls me out of the staring match I was having with my blank iPhone screen, and I turn to find him leaning against the bedroom doorframe with a concerned frown on his face. I do my best to summon a small smile, but I feel too drained to really manage it.

"Peachy." I chuckle humorlessly, stuffing my phone into my pocket again as he slowly approaches me. "I'm definitely gonna pay for _that_ later."

"You were just being honest with her."

"Life is generally a lot easier when I'm not." He smiles supportively, slipping his arms around my waist and pulling me into a comforting hug. "I don't know why I didn't just tell her what she wanted to hear instead of pissing her off like that."

"I know this is a foreign concept to you, but it generally makes life _less_ complicated when you tell people the truth."

"It does?"

"Mmhmm."

"Seems a little far- fetched if you ask me." He laughs softly, the tip of his nose grazing against the skin of my neck for a moment, leaving goosebumps down my spine before I feel his lips lightly caressing my collarbone. "Not fair."

"What isn't?"

"How good you are at making me forget everything that's bothering me."

With a deceptively innocent gleam in his eyes, he pulls back a little and gazes up at me, batting those insanely long lashes. "This is a bad thing?"

"No, it's an _amazing_ thing. It's just not fair that it can't happen more often."

"True." He pecks my lips temptingly, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of my jeans as he effortlessly guides me back towards the bedroom. "But it can happen right now..."

He makes an excellent point, and for the next hour or so he does a damn fine job of taking my mind off of everything but him. I even forget about the fact that Alex is in the bathroom, and I have to assume that he either heard us and decided to stay in there rather than interrupting, or he opened the door, saw us, and promptly closed it again. Either way, he doesn't emerge from his shower until we're both completely sated and (mostly) concealed beneath the bed sheets.

We all head over to the main house together just after eight am, and for the first time since Fools Banquet began I don't feel the need to have an excuse for my early morning presence or the fact that I'm still in yesterday's clothes. I have a genuine reason: I was hanging out in the pool house with my friends and I didn't want to go home.

Carrick and Liz are busy in the kitchen making pancakes for everyone, and neither of them seem at all surprised or curious to see the three of us walk into the room together. In fact, they both give us the same amused "someone had fun last night" look as we each grab a cup of coffee and collapse into chairs at the kitchen table. By the time the food is ready, Ike and Zac have arrived and everyone else has found their way downstairs, and we all eat breakfast together. It's actually really laid back, for the most part, and no one seems to notice any of the glares I shoot Zac's way.

I _know_ he tweeted a picture of Alex for the sole purpose of letting Natalie know he's here. I'm sure he'd deny it, he'd play innocent and pretend that the thought never crossed his mind. But I know him better than that, and I know he's annoyed that none of his attempts to make my life hell this week or scare Tommy away have worked so far. He's getting desperate. Desperate enough to drag my wife into it.

I never thought I'd see the day when the two of them, of all people, were aligned against me.

After breakfast, we all make our way back to the office to find out who we'll be working with today. I wasn't expecting the universe to be kind enough to put me in a group with Alex _or_ Tommy, but apparently fate was feeling charitable enough to let me work with one of them today. At least, that's what I'm foolish enough to think when Tommy's name is written beneath mine on the whiteboard.

But when Zac is named as our third group member a minute later, I get the distinct feeling that the universe wants me to suffer horribly.

And, really, I have no right to expect anything more.

I feel so bad for Tommy right now; he has no idea why things are so insanely tense between Zac and I. It's like the temperature in the room just inexplicably dropped about twenty degrees as soon as everyone else has disappeared to their assigned corners of the house. I'm trying _really_ hard to be professional and act like nothing is wrong, which is how I usually handle things when I have to work with Zac while we're mad at each other, but today it's more difficult than ever.

It becomes even more of a challenge when he starts rejecting all of Tommy's song ideas out of hand, rolling his eyes and laughing them off as though they're ridiculous.

We finally manage to agree on an idea that we all seem genuinely enthusiastic about, but I can tell that Tommy isn't having a good time and I don't blame him for feeling uncomfortable at all. A couple of days ago he thought he was pretty much incapable of writing lyrics, but after working with Liz and I, and then with Alex and Meiko yesterday, I think he was starting to get a feel for it. And now my jackass of a little brother is trying to beat that shred of confidence out of him by tearing down every suggestion he makes. Whether he dismisses them entirely or rewords them until they're completely unrecognizable, he's making it painfully clear that he thinks Tommy's songwriting ability is non-existent.

I'm just about to ask him to step out of the room with me when Tommy excuses himself to go and get a drink. I'm torn between going after Tommy to apologize for Zac's behavior, or staying here to bitch Zac out for making Tommy feel so bad. But going after Tommy won't do any good if Zac is still going to be treating him like shit when he comes back.

"Look," I sigh as soon as I'm sure Tommy is out of earshot. "I know you and I aren't getting along so great right now, and I know you're pissed off at me and you want to see me squirm. I get it. And I'm not even saying I don't deserve it, I know I do. But Tommy doesn't, so stop being an jerk to him."

"Seriously? You're really gonna sit there and tell me to stop being a jerk to the guy you cheated on me with?"

I could make some below the belt comment about how I'm still more than civil to Carrick despite the fact that Zac fooled around with him multiple times while we were together, but I don't see how that's going to improve this situation. Instead, I take a deep breath and try to stay calm.

"I know I hurt you, and whether you believe it or not, I am _sincerely_ sorry for that. I wish things had gone differently, I wish I could fix it, but I can't. It happened, and it's done now. So we can either be mad at each other for it indefinitely, or we can move on-"

"You already have!" He snaps bitterly, shaking his head at me in disgust. "You moved on _months_ ago. You found someone else and you didn't give a shit about me anymore."

"Zac-"

"Twelve years, Taylor. Twelve fucking _years_ we were together, and you dumped me for some random guy you met in a bar one night!"

"It wasn't like that and you know it! What we had was over _way_ before I ever met Tommy, I just didn't realize it until then."

"Well it wasn't over for _me_." I don't know what to believe right now. I don't see why he'd lie about his feelings, we're so far beyond playing those kinds of games. But I can't imagine that he was honestly still in love with me when we broke up last year. The way he acted, the way he'd been treating me for so long... there was nothing loving about it. He wanted me because I was _his_. I felt more like a possession to him than anything else. "I was still in love with you, but you didn't care how _I_ felt. You met him and you were just _done_. It was that easy for you, it always has been. And I put up with it! I put up with your endless doubts and self-pity. I put up with all of your back and forth bullshit!" The harshness of the word is amplified by the sound of the piano bench hitting the floor as he kicks it over aggressively, causing me to jump to my feet in surprise. "I was _always_ there for you because I fucking _loved_ you, but all you ever did was leave me!"

"I-I didn't-"

"And you wanna know what really makes me sick? I _still_ love you."

Is he serious? After everything he's said and done over the last nine months, hell, even just this past few weeks... he thinks this is love? I don't understand how anyone can treat somebody they love that way, no matter how hurt they are.

Then again, who am I to talk?

Look what I put the people I love through every damn day.

"Zac, I... I'm sorry. I honestly didn't know you still felt that way. If I'd had any idea, I _swear_ I would have handled things differently. I _never_ meant to hurt you. I mean, you're my brother, we've been best friends our whole-"

"That's such a crock! We were _always_ more than that, don't try to pretend we weren't."

"I'm not! You _know_ I loved you, too, I'm not trying to pretend I didn't."

"But you don't anymore, is that it?" He asks incredulously.

I shake my head sadly, at a loss for anything to say that will make this in any way easier for either of us. "Not... not the same way. Not the way I did before. I still love you; you're my brother, I'm always going to love you, no matter what. But... I just don't feel the same way I used to. I don't know when it changed, but it did."

"Just like that?" He asks quietly, his demeanor suddenly so different that it completely disarms me.

He's gone from outraged to wounded in a matter of seconds, and those are two _very_ different sides of him to deal with. What would work to comfort and placate one would have no affect on the other. If I say or do the wrong thing here, I could make an already horrible situation ten times worse. I'm walking on very thin ice right now, and it could crack and swallow me whole with every step I take.

"No, not just like that." I assure him honestly, gently, taking a huge risk by reaching out and touching his arm in an attempt to console him somehow. And to my surprise, he lets me. "It's not like I wanted it to happen or I _tried_ to fall out of love with you... I don't know how to explain it, it's just a feeling. I'd been in love with you for so long that I didn't even question it, I just assumed I always would be. And then one day I realized that those feelings weren't there anymore, they hadn't been for a while."

He doesn't speak. He doesn't move. He does nothing but stand there in front of me in the middle of the room, staring hopelessly at some insignificant spot on my t-shirt. His brow furrows, as though he's struggling to understand something that makes no sense to him. Until eventually he looks up at me, pleading with me.

"Maybe we just stopped trying. I know sometimes I took you for granted-"

"None of that matters anymore."

"But what if that _was_ the reason?"

I shrug helplessly. "Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. It doesn't change how I feel _now_."

"But it could."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that... if things between us fell apart because we stopped trying, then maybe we can fix it if we just try harder. _I'll_ try harder this time, I promise."

"Zac-"

I don't have a chance to reiterate the fact that there's nothing to fix anymore, that I don't want to try to repair the relationship we had, that I'm in love with someone else. Any and all protests I had cued up and ready to roll off of my tongue are silenced completely when he kisses me.

 


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *peeks out of hiding* You asked for an update... 
> 
> (Next chapter will be from Tommy's POV again, btw)

  


  


 

 

What happens next is all so surreal, like something out of a movie. I don't think I've ever seen someone so genuinely surprised that they actually lost their grip on a glass of water, but the sound of glass shattering all over the floor is enough to shock me out of the stunned daze I was in. The daze which had rendered me completely frozen, allowing my younger brother to kiss me.

I can't remember how to breathe.

Standing here, staring into Tommy's wide eyes, I can't remember how to do anything at all. The confusion, pain, and betrayal is written all over his face. But those emotions aren't the ones that leave me feeling as though my world is falling to pieces around me the way that glass just exploded across the cold tile beneath us. It's the disgust, the repulsion, _that's_ what scares me the most.

Those are the feelings I fear I will _never_ be able to erase from his mind when he looks at me from now on, no matter what I say or do next.

"Tommy-"

"What the fuck..." He shakes his head uncertainly, his eyes darting back and forth between me and Zac. "What're you... I mean... you were-"

"Kissing." Zac concludes for him unashamedly, sending me reeling even further.

Tommy swallows hard; I wouldn't be surprised if he's fighting the urge to throw up. "You're _brothers_."

"Points for perception."

"Stop." I finally manage to choke out, shooting a warning glower at Zac that hopefully lets him know that one more flippant word out of his mouth will make me lose it entirely. "Please, just _shut up_."

"What's the point? He saw us, he knows-"

"Zac, _stop_!"

"What the _fuck_ is going on?!"

Everything is so overwhelming. There's too much shouting, too much tension, too much sheer panic. I don't know what to _do_! I feel as though I'm watching Tommy slip further away from me with every passing second. And when I take a step towards him and he automatically takes a step back, that distance becomes agonizing.

"Let me explain-"

"Explain what? Unless one of you is adopted, there's nothing to fucking explain!"

"It's not that simple..."

It is, really. Zac is my brother. Not my half brother or step brother, and neither one of us is adopted. We share the same blood, the same parents. And we were in love for half our lives.

"Is he your brother?"

"Yes."

"Were you kissing him just now?"

"No." I wasn't kissing him, I was being kissed by him. But I know it doesn't really make any difference at this point, and trying to pretend otherwise is just adding insult to severe injury. "Well... yes, but-"

"This is _fucked. up._ "

Next thing I know I'm watching him walk away from me, and the second I manage to find my feet and remember how to move I'm running after him, begging him to stop, begging him to listen to me. But nothing I say works, he doesn't even pause or turn to look at me as I follow him up the stairs and down the hall to his room. All of my pleas for a chance to explain seem to fall on deaf ears, he's single-mindedly shoving every stray piece of clothing in sight into his duffel bag, it's as though he can't hear a word I'm saying.

"I know it's crazy, and I understand why you feel the way you do, but... it's complicated." I continue to insist, shadowing him around the bedroom until there's no sign left that he was ever here at all. "Please, just stop for _one_ second and give me a chance to explain-"

"It was him, wasn't it?" He asks, finally turning to face me. "The guy you told me about, the one you were in love with, the first guy you ever..." The word refuses to leave his mouth, he literally can't say it, can't _think_ it. "It was _him_?!"

"Yes." I admit remorsefully, forcing myself to hold his stare even though it hurts to see how sickened he is by me.

"The night we met..." He continues shakily, piecing things together in his mind, hating me more and more by the second. "All those texts you got... it wasn't your little brother wanting you to come and hang out with him, it was your jealous _boyfriend_ wanting to know where you were. When you kissed me you weren't just cheating on your wife, you were cheating on your _brother_ , too!"

"Please, just listen to me-"

He turns his back on me again, pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialing quickly, and all I can do is stand by and listen. "The number for a cab company in Tulsa, please?" He asks the person on the other end of the line, who I can only assume is an operator of some kind. "I honestly don't care, I just need a cab."

"Tommy-"

"Yeah, hi, I need a cab." He repeats, walking away from me and back out into the hallway. I hurry after him, expecting him to ignore me all the way back down the stairs. But instead I almost run into him right outside the bedroom door. "What's the address?"

" _Please_ , stop for one-"

" _No_! I don't want to stop, I don't want to listen, I don't want to hear any-fucking-thing you have to say! Just tell me the damn address so I can get the hell out of here!"

I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe I'm _losing_ him.

"Fine, don't fucking tell me." He snaps resentfully. "I bet Zac will be _more_ than happy to-"

"1544... North 240th Road." I admit in defeat.

He repeats the address to the person on the phone as he stalks over to the stairs, but I can't bring myself to move in order to go after him. I haven't felt this powerless in a long time, possibly not since the day Natalie told me she was pregnant with Ezra. That was the last time I remember feeling as though I was watching my life crumble around me, incapable of holding it together or making it stop. Nothing I said or did could change it or fix it, it was unraveling too quickly, coming apart at the seams. There was nothing I could do but let it pull me along against my will. I closed my eyes and surrendered.

But I _can't_ do that now.

I _won't_ just let him go.

By the time I catch up to him, he's on his way out to our garage studio. I try calling out to him, but he doesn't stop or even slow down. Not that I honestly expected him to, I was just hoping he might so that I wouldn't have to piss him off even further by physically restraining him (or attempting to, at least). It shouldn't be that difficult; I'm taller and heavier than he is. But he's got a hell of a lot of anger and heartache propelling him forward.

Lucky for me, there's a great deal of desperation coursing through my body right now. "Listen to me!"

"Fuck you!" He practically screams in my face, whirling around to face me. His normally warm, gentle eyes are burning with rage. It leaves me momentarily speechless to see him so furious and to know that it's my fault. I did this to him. "You _lied_ to me! You've been lying to me for _months_! You let me believe you were just some closet case stuck in a loveless marriage, but you're _so_ much more fucked up than that!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't _want_ to lie to you, but I was afraid that if you found out about this I'd never see you again-"

"You got that right."

"I'm still _me_ , Tommy. _Everything_ you know about me is real, everything I've told you is real, the way I feel about you-"

"No!" He cuts me off heatedly, shaking off my grip on his arm and shoving me hard against the outside of the studio. "Don't you fucking _dare_! I don't know you-"

"Tommy -"

"And I don't want to."

I know I can't blame him for feeling this way. He's just found out something about me that's so completely unbelievable that it's making it impossible for him to see me as the same person I was to him only thirty minutes ago. But I _am_ still that person. He knows me, he knows who I really am. No, this secret isn't small, and I understand why he's so appalled, I honestly do. But my relationship with Zac doesn't alter who I am or what Tommy knows about me. Yes, it makes me _completely_ immoral, but so does cheating on my wife.

Okay, fine, so it's not the same thing _at all_. Forgive me if I'm grasping at straws here, I guess the prospect of losing the guy I love is making me act even crazier than usual!

When I make one last ditch attempt at going after him again, I find him in the studio with Liz, Alex, and Ike, packing the guitar he recorded with yesterday back into its case while the three of them ask him what's going on.

"Nothing." He replies in a mumble, devoting all of his attention to making sure the case is securely closed so that he won't have to look any of them in the eyes. "I have to head back to L.A."

"What?" Liz asks in surprise, setting down the guitar she was cradling and hurrying over to him. "What's wrong? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine." He glances over at me, just for a second, but then he looks away with a pained expression on his face. Like it hurts. "It's just... a family thing."

"Did something happen?" She continues to question worriedly. "Is your sister okay? Is it the baby?"

"No, it's nothing like that. Everyone's okay, I just have to get home."

"Well... do you want me to come with you?"

"No, honestly, it's not a big deal. You should stay, have fun."

Their conversation fades into the background when I happen to make eye contact with Alex. He can clearly see how distraught I am, and I can tell that he's trying to figure out what the hell happened so that he can help fix it. But it's not like he can come right out and ask me while there are other people all around us, and even if he did ask, I couldn't tell him.

Once he's gathered his guitars from the studio Tommy heads back out to the main house, but this time it's not just me he has hot on his heels, it's Alex as well.

"There's no family emergency is there?" Alex asks me quietly as we follow Tommy into the kitchen. "What's going on?"

"It's over." I tell him weakly, lacking the ability to explain in more detail. But those two words are more than enough, and hearing myself speak that truth out loud is like a kick in the stomach. "We're over."

" _Why_?"

"It's complicated."

Tommy chuckles scathingly, shaking his head at my pathetic excuses. "That's a fucking understatement."

Zac is standing in the doorway of Studio B as we pass, watching the chaos he helped to create unfold. Don't get me wrong, I don't blame him for this. It might not be happening if he hadn't kissed me, but it's still my fault. I kept the truth from Tommy, I let it get this far.

"Give me your car keys." Demand's Alex calmly, holding his hand out like it's just a given that I'll obey.

"Why?" Tommy and I question in unison, which only seems to irritate him all the more.

"I'll take you to the airport."

"I've got a cab coming." He protests as he opens the front door and heads out into the snow covered driveway, struggling to carry his duffle bag and multiple guitar cases unaided.

Apparently he'd prefer to stand out in the freezing cold and wait for a cab that probably won't get here for another half an hour than stay in here with me.

"Just let me drive you." Alex insists, snatching my keys from my hand the moment I take them out of my pocket. "It'll be faster and a _hell_ of a lot cheaper."

It's obvious that Tommy doesn't want to give in and let Alex help him, he probably thinks that Alex is going to spend the entire drive trying to talk him into hearing me out (and I hope that's _exactly_ what his plan is). But faced with the choice of waiting around in the snow to take a seventy dollar cab ride, or getting away from me right now for free, he opts for the latter and reluctantly allows Alex to help him load his belongings into the back of my car.

I watch helplessly as Alex starts the engine, and Tommy slams the back door shut before making his way over to the passenger side. But then he stops. I feel as though I'm holding my breath, silently praying that he'll change his mind, that he'll turn around and look at me and give me one last chance to truly explain myself. Eventually he does turn around, and he does look at me, but I can tell from the coldness of his expression as he approaches me, the emptiness in his eyes, that he's not going to give me chance to do anything.

"We're done." He states plainly, his breath misting in the cold air around us as he exhales unsteadily. "This... thing, whatever it was, it's done. Try to call me, or text me, and I'll have your fucking number blocked. Understand? I'm not interested in _anything_ you have to say. From now on, I just want you to leave me the fuck alone."

There's nothing I can do but watch him get into the car and drive away, leaving me standing here on the front steps alone. Everything is so still and silent out here, so peaceful. The calm after the storm. The only sign that anyone was even out here only moments ago are the tire tracks and footprints in the glistening snow.

He's gone.

Was that the last time I'll ever see him? Speak to him?

How is that _possible_?

My numb body slowly sinks down onto the icy concrete, oblivious to the cold as I continue to stare at the empty driveway. Some stupid, naive voice in my head keeps telling me that maybe they'll come back. If I just wait here, he'll change his mind and tell Alex to turn around. He'll come back. He _has_ to.

"Tay?"

The sound of Zac's concerned voice behind me makes every muscle in my body tense. "Not now."

"Don't you think we should talk?"

"Not. Now."

He sighs tiredly, and I hear the frosty ground crunch under his feet as he takes a step closer. "He's gone."

"I know."

"He's not gonna come back."

"You don't know that." I tell him pitifully, blinking back the salty tears stinging the corners of my eyes. "You don't know him."

"I know he thinks you're sick. He thinks we're freaks, Taylor. You saw the way he looked at us."

"There wouldn't have been anything to look at if you hadn't kissed me." I snap at him, finally tearing my eyes away from the tire tracks to shoot a glare over my shoulder. "You had _no_ right to do what you did. I _told_ you I didn't have feelings for you anymore, I _told_ you I was in love with him. If you hadn't kissed me-"

"If you hadn't kissed _him_ that night at the bar we wouldn't even be having this conversation! We'd still be together and none of this shit would have happened! You ruined _everything_ , Taylor, you ruined _us_!" He accuses furiously while I hold my pounding head in my hands and will him to disappear. "You threw away _everything_ we'd built for some guy you didn't even know just 'cause you thought he was _pretty._ We could have fixed it. Whatever was broken between us, we could have fixed it, but-"

"I didn't _want_ to fix it!" I shout impatiently, my voice softly echoing through the quiet around us. "It was over, Zac. There was nothing left _to_ fix, we were just holding on because we'd been together so long that we didn't know how to let go!"

"No, _you_ were just holding on because you couldn't stand the thought of being alone, you never could! You were just waiting for something 'better' to come along, looking for an excuse to bail-"

"That's _not_ true!" I argue adamantly as I force myself to my feet and turn to face him. "I wasn't looking, Zac, I wasn't even _thinking_ about it. I wasn't waiting for someone else, I wasn't looking to cheat on you _or_ Natalie, I didn't _want_ to. The last thing I _ever_ wanted was more fucking guilt, something else I had to hide from everyone and feel like shit for! But he was worth it! He made me feel like _I_ was worth it! It wasn't anything I went looking for, it just happened. _That's_ how I knew it was right."

"It wasn't 'right', it was a fucking premature mid-life crisis!" He sneers. "What _we_ had was real. We'd been through _everything_ together, our whole lives! What you had with him wouldn't have lasted a fucking year! You never would've left Natalie for him, and he never would've waited around for you to-"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Did you seriously think he was something special? That he'd put up with your shit forever? Fuck, Taylor, look around you! Where is he, huh? He bolted the _second_ he saw who you really are, he couldn't get away from you fast enough! _I'm_ still here, I've _always_ been here! I'm the _only_ one who-"

"Get out." I order him as calmly as I can, my fingers curling into fists at my sides, my nails etching harsh curves in my palms.

"What?"

"I don't want you here. I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to look at you right now."

"You can't kick me out! It's not your house, I have as much right to-"

"Zac, I swear to God, if you say _one_ more fucking word to me, I will never speak to you again! Do you understand? _Never_."

I doubt he believes me, and maybe he's right not to. Maybe it is just a stupid, empty threat. But right here, in this moment, I feel like I could follow through. Rationally, I know I still have plenty left to lose, but I can't _feel_ it. All I can feel is... nothing. Just... hollow, lonely, indescribable _nothing_. Devastation. Something inside of me has been crushed, destroyed, and in its place is a kind of emptiness I've honestly never felt before.

It's unbearable.

Eventually he gives in and retreats back into the house, slamming the front door shut behind him. I'm kind of getting used to having doors slammed in my face today, it barely even affects me anymore. All I want to do right now is sit back down and wait for Tommy to come back. Because he _has_ to come back. I'm aware of how foolish it would be to stay out here until he does, though; it can't be more than a few degrees above freezing, and I didn't exactly plan ahead enough to grab a jacket. So, instead, I compromise with myself and wait just inside the front door, perched on the tile steps leading down to the sunken lounge rather than out on the steps of the front porch.

Almost two hours later, the front door _finally_ opens once again, and within seconds I'm on my feet and staring expectantly at the entry way.

But only one person walks into the house.

"Where's Tommy?"

Alex shakes his head apologetically, closing the door behind him with a quiet, conclusive click. "I'm sorry, Tay."

I think I must have convinced myself that Alex would be able to calm him down and talk him into coming back, because I honestly believed he'd be here. But he's not; he's gone. It's all gone. His eyes, his smile, his laugh, his voice, the scent of his skin... gone. No more flirty morning text messages that start my day off with a grin, no more late night phone calls that make it easier for me to find the peace of mind to fall sleep.

I won't ever get to kiss him again.

We won't ever make love again...

The tears start falling long before I even realize that I'm crying. I'm usually so good at holding things in; I _don't_ cry, no matter how close I may come to it at times. I don't do it because there's so many years worth of unexpressed confusion, pain, anger, and resentment pent up inside of me at this point that I don't know if I'll be able to stop once I start.

But this is it.

This is the one crack in my dented and damaged shell that goes too deep and spreads too far.

He's _gone_.

"I can't believe I fucked this up so badly." 

"Just... give him a few days, okay?" Alex tries to console me gently, though I can tell from the tone of his voice that he doesn't truly believe what he's saying. He's just trying to make me feel better, trying to give me one last shred of hope to cling to, to keep me going. "He's upset now, but he'll calm down."

"He told me not to call him, he said he'd block my number." I explain miserably, making a half-hearted attempt to wipe away the tears on my cheeks with the palm of my hand. "He doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, Alex."

"Like I said, he was angry. He'll come around." He insists with a soothing, steadying hand on my shoulder. "He gave me his number. I can try to talk to him about everything when he's had a chance to deal with it all, okay?"

"He's better off without me."

I know it's true. I've spent so much of my life deceiving people that I can practically taste a lie before it leaves my mouth. This isn't one. I may not be better off without him in my life, but I know that he _is_ better off as far away from me as he can get.

"If he was better off without you, he wouldn't be so fucking heartbroken about all this." That's not true. Sometimes what we want and what we need are completely different things. He might want me, but he definitely doesn't need me. "I know you can't see it right now because you're upset and you feel like everything is falling apart, but this doesn't have to be over."

No, it doesn't have to be.

"But maybe it _should_ be."

For his sake. __


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from TOMMY'S POINT OF VIEW! Not Taylor's. It takes place mostly on that car ride to the airport from the last chapter.

  


  


 

 

I can't stop seeing it.

It doesn't matter if my eyes are open or closed, I can still see them... _kissing_.

What the fuck is _wrong_ with him? With _both_ of them?! They're _brothers_! You don't kiss your own brother! I mean, I know I call Adam my brother, and I know we kiss on stage, but we're not _actually_ brothers and we don't _really_ wanna do each other! We didn't grow up together, we don't have the same parents, we don't share the same blood! And kissing isn't all they've done, it goes _so_ much further than that...

I can't even _think_ about it without wanting to hurl.

I'm so fucking _angry_ at him.

As if this situation wasn't messed up enough to begin with, as if being crazy about a married guy didn't make me feel like a big enough idiot, it turns out that he's not only married, he's in love with his own little brother! How the hell did I _not_ see it?

 _Fuck_.

The night we met, he left me at that fucking bar by myself to go and be with Zac. If I'd known then that he wasn't just feeling guilty for ditching his little brother, if I'd known that he was probably going back to his hotel room to _fuck_ his little brother, I never would have let myself fall for him. I never would have talked to him again, because no way in hell do I want _anything_ to do with this bullshit.

God fucking _damnit_!

Trust me to fucking fall in love with a closeted married guy who's also in an incestuous relationship. How is it that the _only_ person I've ever felt this way about is _so_ unbelievably fucked up? I mean, I'm a pretty normal guy; I'm not into anything all _that_ weird. Why couldn't I have just fallen for some nice, single girl? Or even a nice, single _guy_? I don't care, I'm honestly not _that_ picky! Just so long as they haven't been screwing around with their brother since puberty!

Is that really too much to ask for?!

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Alex eventually inquires, breaking the silence that's been hanging between us for a good fifteen minutes or so now.

I've gotta hand it to him, I didn't think he'd be able to wait this long. "You don't wanna know. Believe me."

He nods slowly, seemingly considering that statement while I try to go back to watching the snow covered scenery flying by outside. But still all I can see is that damn kiss. And if I close my eyes and try to make it stop, my mind starts cobbling together images of them doing other things...

On second thoughts, I think I'd rather replay that kiss over and over again than picture them fucking in every conceivable position.

I could really use a strong drink right about now.

"What if I already know?" Alex asks.

"What?"

"What if I already know what happened?" He turns his gaze from the road for a moment to meet my dubious stare, and judging by his serious expression he's pretty confident in his assumption. "Things were fine between you two a few hours ago, so something must have happened since then."

"So?"

"So... I'm guessing you're not pissed at him for preferring a lyric Zac suggested over something you came up with." At the mention of Zac's name, I can't even look at him anymore. It's as if I'm afraid the truth will be written all over my face. "You've known Tay for what... eight months now, give or take? You probably know him pretty well?"

If he'd asked me that question earlier this morning, I would have said yes. But now I can't contain the bitter breath of laughter that escapes me as I think of how fucking stupid I was to believe that I knew him at all. "Apparently not."

"You know he's married, you know he has four kids, you know he's a former child star with more emotional baggage than any therapist on the planet would know what to do with."

"What's your point?"

"You knew all that, and none of it sent you running for the hills. So whatever it was that happened today would have to be pretty fucking huge to freak you out this much." I wish he'd stop making sense and just go back to not saying anything at all. "If I were to guess that you found out something about him that most people wouldn't be able to deal with, something to do with his... familial relationships, maybe, would I be somewhere in the vicinity of close?"

What am I supposed to do here? Assume he knows and tell him what I saw? What if he _doesn't_ already know? Or do I keep playing this 'I know what you know' game without ever actually being specific, when in reality we could both be talking about totally different things?

"Maybe."

He smiles faintly, understandingly. "Okay. Well, for arguments sake, let's say that whatever happened was completely messed up-"

" _Completely_."

"And it made you think that he must have some _serious_ fucking problems that you want _nothing_ to do with."

He knows.

There's no way he _doesn't_ know.

"You know, don't you?"

"I do _now._ " He sighs, shaking his head sadly. "I suspected but I never knew for sure, and I never flat out asked him."

"I don't get it. If you suspected strongly enough that it doesn't even blow your mind when you find out that it's true, _how_ could you still want anything to do with him?!"

"Because he's one of the best people I've ever met." Alex replies plainly, with a shrug to suggest that it's _that_ simple. "Endless quirks and all, he always has been. He's got an amazing heart, even if he _is_ completely screwed up on more levels than I care to count."

I wish it wasn't true, but it is. I like to think of myself as a pretty good judge of character, for the most part. And I knew from the night I met him that he was something special. You can see it in his eyes, as fucking sappy and sentimental as that probably sounds. I saw something in him that I've never seen in anyone else before.

"It's not often you meet people in this business who are more concerned with making people happy than they are with making money or even making music. Unfortunately, he's _so_ concerned with keeping everyone in his life happy that he frequently forgets himself in the process. It's impossible to please every last fucking person on the planet, but try telling _him_ that."

"He lied to me." I mumble petulantly, folding my arms across my chest and pouting at the dashboard. It seems like the dumbest thing in the world to say after everything Alex has just pointed out, but it still _feels_ like a big deal to me.

"And if he'd told you the truth from day one, or even day two or three, would you have stuck around?"

No.

"But we're not on day two or three! We've known each other for _months_ , we've been sleeping together since September, we talk on the phone every fucking day. I've told him things about myself that I haven't told anyone else, I _trusted_ him-"

"Me too." He acknowledges quickly, again making it sound like it's nothing. "I knew him for a year before we stopped talking. We fucked around for months, we hung out _all_ the time, we talked about everything, and I told him a lot of stuff I hadn't told other people. And he never even _once_ hinted at... this. At least, not intentionally."

"And you're fine with that?"

"I understand _why_ he didn't tell me, yeah. He's terrified, Tommy. He has nothing to gain and _everything_ to lose by telling people about this. And it doesn't matter how much he trusts you, a secret like this... it can _completely_ change the way you look at someone. He has no way of knowing who'll stand by him and who'll walk away. And if he tells someone about this and they choose to leave, they're taking this secret of his with them. For the rest of his life, he has to live with the knowledge that someone out there has the power to end his career and tear apart his family simply by sharing what they know with the wrong person."

"I would _never_ do that."

"And I bet a few hours ago you wouldn't have thought you'd be telling him you wanted nothing to do with him and hopping on the first flight out of town, either. But... here we are." I hate to admit it, but he's right. Again. I need someone as irrational and pissed off as I am to talk to; all of this clear-thinking and sense-making isn't helping. "Like I said, it changes how you see him. Even someone who loves him-"

"I _don't_ love him."

"Never said you did." He smirks, casting a knowing glance my way that kinda makes me want to punch him in the face. And I'm not even a violent person. "I'm just trying to say-"

"Well don't!" I snap irritably. "This is why I wanted to take a fucking cab to the airport. I _knew_ you were gonna try and talk me into going back, but there's no way in hell I'm going anywhere near that house again, so just... stop, okay? I don't want to talk about this anymore. In fact, I don't wanna talk, _period_."

"As you wish."

If he thinks that getting cute and quoting "The Princess Bride" at me is going to miraculously put me in a better mood, he's sadly fucking mistaken. At this point, it's kind of hard to imagine how I'm ever going to be in a good mood again. I mean, I'm sure I will, I'm not melodramatic enough to think this is the end of the world and I'll _never_ recover from it. I just... don't know _how_ I'm going to move past it, exactly. I guess I have to wake up every day, and get out of bed, and live my damn life, and hope that at some point I stop thinking about him.

Obviously, that point is a long way off.

"Even if I could get over the whole betrayal of trust thing, even if I honestly understood why he never told me about it, how am I supposed to get over the fact that he actually _did_ it? There's _no_ excuse for that! Even if he _was_ the best person on the planet, even if he was Mother fucking Teresa with a dick-"

"Now _there's_ a terrifying mental picture." He snorts, as though any of this is even slightly amusing.

"What kind of person does what he did? How fucking messed up do you have to be to go there?"

"Or how lonely?"

I'm really getting sick of him making me second guess myself when I just want to be pissed off. "What do you mean?"

"Well... okay, you've been on tour with Adam, right? You've seen the obsessive fan insanity, you've probably even got your fair share of rabid admirers, pretty little thing that you are."

"So?"

"So it's fucking ridiculous! The things people say and do, the way they treat you... it's like you're not even a real person, you're an object. Don't get me wrong, it's not unpleasant having girls throw themselves at you night after night, if that's what you're in to, but if you stop and think about it for too long it'll completely mess with your head."

I can't deny that. Ever since I joined Adam's band I've gained more and more fans by the day. And I love it, don't get me wrong; most of them are sweet as hell and completely harmless. But there's a very vocal and obsessive percentage of them that scare the living shit out of me. And I don't scare easy! If I ever met them face-to-face I'd smile and take a picture, but in my head I'd be like "get me the fuck out of here!" The idea of ever finding myself trapped in a room with more than one of them is my own worst nightmare.

Or it _was_ , but today's events quickly knocked it into a distant second place.

"Yeah, it's crazy. So what? I'm not gonna go and fuck my own sister over it."

The second I realize what I've just said, I freeze. It's stupid that I still feel any kind of loyalty to Taylor whatsoever, I shouldn't worry about blurting out his sick little secret. But I do. Because I still fucking care about him way more than I want to.

Alex, on the other hand, doesn't seem to so much as blink at what I've just said. I know we've basically established that we both know what we're talking about, but neither of us had actually _said_ it out loud until now. I guess I figured he'd have at least some tiny little reaction to it. But apparently he's known for long enough that it really is no big deal to him anymore.

"No, because you're a grown man. You've got experience and you're in control of your life, you know how to deal with this stuff. Or you can figure it out, at least." He continues to explain calmly, making it clear that he's obviously put a hell of a lot of consideration into all of these conclusions he's drawn. Maybe that's why he's so okay with it. Maybe it takes ten years to come to terms with something like this. "He was barely fourteen years old. _Fourteen_ years old, for fucks sake. And whatever fame you and I have experienced in our lives _combined_ , it's _nothing_ compared to what that kid saw. He was _everywhere_ , his face was on every fucking magazine cover, his music was on every radio station, he was on every TV show. He had a number one song in a record breaking number of countries, he had thousands and _thousands_ of teenage girls throwing themselves at him, grabbing him, literally _tearing_ his fucking clothes and jumping on stage trying to kiss him, _proposing_ to him... And let's not even get started on the unwarranted _hatred_ coming from the people who couldn't stand his music. And the whole fucking time he wasn't only trying to deal with all that, _and_ with being a teenage boy, which we both know is its own special kind of hell most days... he was desperately trying to hide the fact that he was gay, too. And not just hide it, but deny it, _change_ it, even."

Honestly, I never really gave much thought to his past. I vaguely remember the summer of nineteen-ninety-seven, I remember _MMMBop_ being _every_ -fucking _-where_ (and I remember _hating_ it with a passion). I remember that it felt as though I couldn't go anywhere without seeing his face or hearing that damn song, or at least hearing someone mention Hanson. I remember him being inescapable, even when I was consciously trying _not_ to pay attention to him.

I can't even begin to imagine what that summer looked like from his side of things. I don't _want_ to. I had a taste of fame this past year, and it definitely has it perks, I'm not gonna lie. But in a lot of ways, it's so fake and fleeting. People are fickle creatures. One day they worship the ground you walk on, the next they've moved on to someone else and they don't care about you at all. Or they hate your guts for no apparent reason; it could go either way. Some days it's difficult for me to wrap my head around it all, and as Alex pointed out, I'm an adult.

I don't even want to think about how much all this bullshit would mess with the mind of someone half my age.

"So there he is, barely pubescent and adored by millions... and he can probably count on one hand the people he can truly _trust_. He's got his family, great, but he feels as though he has to make them proud, and being gay isn't gonna cut it. He's on the road constantly, he never gets to see his friends back home, and he can't easily make new ones because how the hell is he supposed to know who likes him for the right reasons anymore? So he turns to the person who's been there for him his whole life, the person he can share it all with because they're going through it all, too. Is it the healthiest way to handle it? Fuck no! But he's not in and out of rehab every other month, his mug shot isn't all over TMZ, he's not randomly shaving his head, or crashing cars, or befriending chimpanzees, or acting like an escaped mental patient."

"So you're saying that fucking Zac is an alternative to a coke habit and a criminal record?"

"Basically." He chuckles softly, shaking his head at how bizarre it all sounds. "It was what he needed to do to get through the insanity and stay sane. And right or wrong... it worked. He survived it."

"Yeah, he survived it, but surviving is pretty much all he's doing anymore. He's stuck in a marriage to a woman he doesn't love, with four kids and probably more on the way. He's not living _his_ life, he's living some other guy's life. Some straight, Christian, conservative, family guy. He's locked himself in the fucking closet and thrown away the key. He's hiding from everyone and he's _miserable_."

"Maybe he never had a good enough reason to break the door down..."

I don't like the look he's giving me. That sideways, smartass smirk. I know what he's trying to imply and it's stupid. I'm _not_ that reason. Taylor's basically already said as much; he's not going to leave his wife. He's never going to walk away from this 'perfect' little life he's built for himself, he's not going to step out from behind the facade and let the world see who he really is. He'd lose everything and he can't afford to let that happen. I haven't tried to talk him into leaving her because I _know_ that.

I never for one second assumed that I was worth giving up everything for.

Yes he's in the closet, but he's not banging on the door and begging to be let out. He's cowering in the darkest corner he can find and praying that no one ever cracks the door open and lets enough light in to expose him.

I refuse to be the person who does that to him; I'm not _that_ much of an asshole.

Maybe I should just look at this whole mess as a blessing in disguise. I'd gotten myself in so deep that I had no fucking clue how I was ever supposed to get out. Here's my excuse to leave. Hell, it's not an excuse, it's a damn good reason! Regardless of everything Alex has said, whether it makes sense and makes me feel more sympathetic than I want to admit or not, it's still _completely_ fucked up. I really _don't_ want any part of it. All I have to do is keep my distance; I told him not to call me, so as long as I don't call him... it's done.

It's over.

I'm out.

Thankfully, Alex seems to be done spewing level-headed logic at me for now, and we spend the next fifteen minutes or so in silence. But there's so much talking going on in my head that it feels as though the car is actually packed full of people, all of them yelling their thoughts and opinions at me. I don't know how I manage to stop myself from covering my ears and screaming "shut the fuck up!" at no one in particular.

When Alex does speak again, it's to admit that he doesn't actually know where he is or how to get to the airport. Apparently he thought that if he backtracked on the route he drove home last night he'd find it eventually, but that plan didn't pan out and now we're who-knows-where. It might be funny if it wasn't for everything else going on right now. When I look the directions up on my phone, it turns out he wasn't _too_ far out of the way. The drive ends up taking longer than I would have liked, but as long as I get the fuck out of here by the end of the day, I really don't care.

I just want to go home, as pathetic and childish as that sounds.

"Ya know, at this point, it'd probably be a hell of a lot cheaper for you to just hole up in an airport hotel until Wednesday." Alex points out as he pulls the car up to the curb outside arrivals. "Last minute flights cost-"

"At this point, I seriously don't fucking care if it leaves me bankrupt. I just wanna get out of here" I sigh, unbuckling my seatbelt and starting to open passenger side door. "Thanks for the ride."

"Any time. Hey, Tommy?"

"Yeah?"

"If I promise not to mention all of this, or him, do you wanna hang out sometime when I get back to L.A.?" He asks hopefully, trying his hardest to flash me that mischievous smirk of his. But apparently we're both too bummed out for him to manage it. "I swear I won't grab your ass unless you ask me to."

Despite my incredibly miserable mood, I can't help but crack a hint of a smile as I roll my eyes and hold my phone out to him. "Well, since you put it like that..."

He quickly inputs his number for me and hands the phone back, and I can already tell from the look on his face that he gave himself some stupid alias in my contacts. Something like "Booty Call" or "Hot Sex"; I may have only known him a short while, but I know him well enough to know how his mind works (kinda similar to mine, in a lot of ways). It's funny how things turn out. A few days ago I hated his guts for no good reason (although, the fact that he'd fucked Taylor seemed like a good reason at the time), and now I feel like a total idiot for being a dick to him when we first met. He's a genuinely good guy, and as long as he keeps his word and doesn't try to talk about Taylor every time we see each other, I can't see a reason why we wouldn't end up becoming good friends.

At least one positive thing came out of all of this shit.

We say our brief goodbyes and I wrestle with getting my bags and guitars out of the back of the car and onto a luggage cart before watching him drive away again. For a moment I feel a sharp pang of regret hit me square in the chest. I think about how he's probably hurrying back to the house to make sure Taylor hasn't done something stupid. I think about the look of absolute heartbreak on Taylor's face the last second I saw him. I'd be a fucking liar if I said it didn't hurt and that I didn't miss him already, no matter what he's done or how angry at him I am.

But I tell myself it has to be this way; it's for the best.

This thing between us was never going to lead to anything good anyway, it was a pointless exercise in heartache and frustration. It needed to be over, whether I wanted it to be or not, but I don't know that I ever would have summoned the will to end it if this hadn't happened. In some fucked up way, this is a good thing.

I push my luggage cart into the tiny airport and over to the check-in counter, and I'm not surprised to find that Alex was right about the cost of a last minute, one-way flight. But five hundred bucks is worth it if it gets me home in a few hours rather than a few days. As soon as my bag is checked and I have my boarding pass, I take out my phone again and call the only person I think I can handle seeing when I get back to Los Angeles.

"Hey beb!"

Isaac's pleasantly surprised voice brings a genuine smile to my face instantly, it's like I'm already home. "Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing much. Just sitting around, staring at your picture and counting the minutes until your return..."

"Sophie must be _thrilled_."

"She's actually been very supportive. She understands that I can't function when you're not here. I told her we're a package deal; if she loves one of us, she has to love both of us." He informs me very seriously.

"Does that mean I get conjugal visits now?" I ask teasingly, fully expecting him to tell me to fuck off. But I should know better.

"With me? Absolutely!"

"It's about damn time."

"So how's your trip going?" He inquires lightly, wiping the smile off of my face just as quickly as he put it there. "Written the next _MMMBop_ yet?"

My normal response would be a simple "fuck you" or a witty pun involving the word 'MMMBop' and doing him some form of bodily harm, but I just don't have it in me to even try right now. "Actually, I'm at the airport... I just checked in for a flight home."

"I thought you weren't due back until Wednesday?"

"Yeah, well... I changed my mind. I wasn't really into the whole song writing deal, it's just not my thing. I didn't wanna waste any more of my time or theirs."

"Oh... okay, well do you need me to come pick you up when you get back?"

He read my mind. I love it when he does that. "If you're not busy..."

"Just text me your flight info and I'll be there. We can grab a drink on the way home if you're feeling up to it?"

" _Definitely_. Thanks, Isaac."

"Anytime."

I still have three hours to kill until my flight, and I intend to spend every last minute of them in the first airport bar I come across. Unfortunately for me there are no bars on this side of security, so I guess that means I have to get that over with first. I can never decide which I hate more: flying or the "remove all your clothes and empty all your bags" crap you have to go through before they even let you on the fucking plane. This is probably the gayest thing I've ever thought (well, besides wanting to fuck another guy), but it's times like this when I really wish I could just like... click my heels and be home.

Damn the man.

After standing in line for ten minutes, I grab one of the grey bins by the end of the conveyor belt and start dumping out the contents of my pockets. And there, staring back up at me from underneath my wallet and phone, is the strip of pictures from the photo booth last night. It already feels like an eternity ago. It takes me a moment to work up the nerve to even pick the damn thing up, it's like I'm afraid it'll bite me or burn me or something. Like one little piece of paper has the power to hurt me. But then I realize that the longer I leave it lying there, the higher the chances are that someone else is going to look down and see it, so I quickly snatch it back up. My fingers close around it, crumpling it into a ball in my palm as I glance around for a trash can to throw it into before it's my turn to walk through the metal detector.

But when it comes right down to it, I can't actually do it.

I can't bring myself to let it go .

 


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter and the next aren't as packed with tension and drama as the previous few have been. They're more of a "build up", I guess, to the next part of the story. But I promise there will be more Tommy SOON.
> 
> Also, someone asked me recently if this story is ever going to actually end. lol Yes, it is. I don't know when, exactly, because sometimes I plan for something to happen in a chapter and it ends up taking multiple chapters. But if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say we're 15-20 chapters away from "The End". Hopefully most of you are willing to stick with it that long. lol
> 
> Back to Taylor's brain...

  


  


 

 

_ Austin, Texas - March 19th, 2011 _

__

The past month has been the longest of my life.

No, I'm not even slightly exaggerating.

I have _never_ missed somebody so much, never felt so completely numb. The most difficult period of my life up until this point was the summer I got married; the months leading up to it and the months following. It took me so long to truly accept that it was happening, to make peace with it and be able to think about it without forgetting how to breathe and wanting to flee the country. But eventually things settled down, I fell into a routine, I got used to coming home to her every night and waking up to her every morning. I played my part and tried my hardest, and I quickly realized that as long as she was happy life could be(relatively) easy me.

I haven't made peace with what happened between me and Tommy. I can't.

I know it's only been fifty days since I last saw him, but it feels like years. I keep waiting for it to stop hurting, for him to not be the first thing I think of when I open my eyes every morning, or the thing that weighs on my mind so much that it takes me hours to get to sleep every night... but he's still there. I'm starting to think he won't ever leave.

And to make matters worse, Natalie is decidedly _not_ happy with me and hasn't been since our phone call during Fools Banquet. I was such an idiot. For one short moment I lost the will to lie to her, I just couldn't find it in me to care if she got pissed at me for being friends with Alex. And I've been paying for that moment of stupidity for over a month now. She's been doing that pouty, door-slamming, one-word-answer-giving thing she likes to do when she wants me to know I've upset her. And yet, she still expected me to make a baby with her while she was ovulating a few weeks ago. It was so romantic; she'd tell me when she was ready and I'd grudgingly drop whatever I was doing and follow her up to our bedroom. I should have just told her that I didn't feel like it, she was already mad at me anyway so it wasn't like it would've made a huge difference in her mood. But I couldn't risk it. If I want to get out of Tulsa and tour again later this year without her kicking up a huge fuss or inviting the whole family along for the duration, I need to at least _pretend_ to want to have another baby.

The only thing that keeps me sane these days is work. I've been obsessive about it, I spend as much time in the studio or the office as I can. It's like my life line, the thing keeping my head above water. If I didn't have music, I'd drown in my own fucking heartache. The past couple of days especially have been overwhelmingly busy, I haven't even slept, they've been a Godsend. And I feel incredibly selfish for saying that, considering the reason.

A week ago, a massive earthquake and tsunami rocked Japan and rendered the rest of the world speechless and horrified. It was terrible, _unimaginable_ , we were all so powerless. Aside from donating money to the Red Cross, I didn't know how else I could help. And helplessness is a feeling I do _not_ play well with.

We've been at South by South West in Austin this week, promoting our music and doing the annual mingling thing. And the other day it occurred to me that there are musicians here from all over the country, this kind of event doesn't happen very often. There was so much influence and inspiration gathered here in this city, and so little was really being done with it. There was no centralized effort to channel our collective resources into something good, no one was saying "hey, let's get together and do something to help!" And then it occurred to me that there was no good reason why _we_ couldn't be the ones to stand up and say it. So I pitched an idea to Ike and Zac, and they immediately jumped on board. We took it to the organizers of South by South West, and they didn't hesitate to give us their blessing and full support. And ever since then we've been on the streets and on our phones almost constantly, handing out fliers, dropping in unannounced at any venue we can find that has a microphone of any kind, all in the name of rallying support and rounding up artists to participate in a twelve  hour telethon to raise money for the Red Cross relief efforts.

And the reason I feel so selfish is because this telethon is the thing keeping _me_ going right now. As desperately as I wanted to help others, I can't deny that it's helping me, too. It's making me feel human again, making me feel like I have something to offer other people besides pain and misery.

I feel more like myself today than I have since the last time I saw Tommy.

"Okay, so Charlie is definitely in and Anna Nalick's people are supposed to get back to us within the hour, but they said they're sure she'll be able to work something out."

I look up from the wires I'm helping to untangling as Zac walks into the studio we've rented for the weekend with a triumphant smile on his face. Things between us lately have been... well... weird, to be honest. Not necessarily in a bad way, though. We never even talked about everything that went down at Fools Banquet, we just avoided each other for a week and then it was kind of like nothing had ever happened. And by nothing, I mean _nothing_. Not the fight after Tommy left, not the months of bickering and tension after our breakup, not our breakup, not our relationship... not even our friendship, really. It was like starting from scratch, except for the fact that we have so much history that I don't think we could ever give each other entirely blank slates.

I don't know if my threat to never speak to him again hit home and made him realize just how close we were to ruining any chance of us ever even being friends again, but whatever it was that changed his attitude towards me, it's better than the way things were before.

"Awesome!" Ike smile enthusiastically, helping our livestream camera guys try to get their equipment set up around the room. "Did we hear anything back from AWOLNATION yet?"

"No, but The Parlotones and The Boxer Rebellion are both in. Rebecca's manning the phones, or... phone. If anyone else commits she'll let us know."

"Oh, and Ben called me an hour ago and asked if there's a way he can participate from New York." I note, looking hopefully at our lead camera tech. "Is that doable on a livestream?"

He considers it for a moment before shrugging and giving a semi-confident nod. "Should be, I think."

"That's reassuring." Snorts Zac, perching on the edge of a nearby amp and watching us work. "We're gonna pull this off, right? I mean... we have less than six hours left until this thing is supposed to go live around the world, only half of the people we've contacted have responded-"

"Because we gave most of them twelve hours notice in the middle of the night." I remind him, wondering just how insane they must all think we are for trying to cobble a star-studded, live telethon together in under a day.

"Exactly! And none of us have slept in the last twenty-four-hours-"

"And none of us are likely to get any sleep for the next twenty-four-hours, at least." Ike points out wearily, surveying the mess of instruments, cables, amps, cameras and lighting equipment scattered all around us. "Why do we do these things to ourselves? Are we really _this_ masochistic?"

"Yes." Zac and I chorus immediately and sincerely, which leaves us looking at each other in surprise.

It's been a long time since we've shared a moment like this. It used to happen all the time, multiple times a day. A year ago it wouldn't have made either of us so much as blink to say or do the exact same thing at the exact same time; it'd been that was since we were kids. But we've been so disconnected and out of sync these last few months that it feels as though we're never on the same wavelength and we're more often at odds than in agreement about anything.

"Who needs sleep anyway?" Zac continues, doing his best to feign indifference even though I know he's probably feeling the same surge of mixed emotions as I am right now. "We're young, virile rock stars! We survive on sex, drugs, and rock and roll!"

Ike rolls his eyes and slumps in an exhausted heap against the nearest wall. "Speak for yourself; I need a cup of coffee."

"A-fucking-men." I haven't had coffee or a shot of Five Hour Energy or even a soda since yesterday morning. I think that might be the longest I've gone without a trace of caffeine entering my body in years. It's not healthy. "Starbucks should be open by now, I'm gonna make a java run." I tell everyone, pushing myself out of the crouched position it feels as though I've been in for hours and grabbing my jacket on the way to the door. "Someone text me a list of orders."

It's still dark out, and the streets around the studio are entirely empty. I think this is the first time in hours that I've been completely alone. I've been so busy running around all over the festival, talking on my phone, doing interviews and promo... this much silences is incredibly disconcerting. It's almost as if I've suddenly gone deaf or something, it's enough to make me want to talk just to reassure myself that my ears still work.

I hate silence.

I try to avoid it as much as possible because it makes the voices in my head so much louder and harder to ignore. When I'm working or even just around other people, they drown the noise out and help to keep me distracted. But in moments like this, when it's just me and my stupid thoughts, my mind starts to wander into territory that's incredibly murky. It makes it impossible for me to focus on anything besides how much I miss Tommy and how much this fucking _hurts_. I swear, sometimes it hits me so hard it literally takes my breath away. I can't move, I have to stop whatever I'm doing and channel every last shred of everything I have into getting through that split second of sheer agony without screaming out loud.

Lucky for me, there's a Starbucks near enough to the studio that I don't have time to reach the point of screaming into the dawn before being greeted by the mellow music of whichever compilation CD they're playing and the giddy smile of the barista behind the counter. Looks like _someone_ has already had several cups of coffee this morning.

I can't wait until I can say the same.

It takes them almost fifteen minutes to make the laundry list of drinks that Ike texted me right before I got here, and I'm pretty sure it takes me almost as long to figure out how to juggle the resulting four drink carriers and six paper bags full of breakfast pastries. Of course, the second I finally figure out how to balance it all and make a first attempt at leaving the building, I feel my phone vibrate _again_. My first instinct is to ignore it, but I've only taken a single step when I stop and reluctantly change my mind. I don't want to go back to the studio only to find out that someone wanted an extra shot of espresso or another scone. I'll just feel like a jerk for not checking my messages while I was here and could have (somewhat) easily done something about it. Everyone is working so hard, and none of them would be up at this ungodly hour if it wasn't for my incessant need to save the world.

Sometimes I wonder if I'd still be this gung-ho about humanitarianism if I'd ever truly felt like a good person at any point in my life. Maybe all of this do-gooding is just my way of trying to balance out my bad karma, make amends for all of the people I've lied to, betrayed, and hurt over the years. And when I think about it like that it makes me feel like scum, because if that's the case, it means every good deed I do is motivated by my desire to feel better about myself.

But all of my self-loathing and doubt it cast out of my mind completely when I pull my phone out of my pocket and see that the text isn't another drink order from anyone back at the studio. It's not from them at all.

It's from Tommy.

At first, I don't even read it. I _can't_. I'm in too much of a state of shock to do anything besides stare at his name and wonder what's going on. He told me not to call or text him, so I haven't. It's been hell, and it's been the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but I've stopped myself every time I've come close to sending him a text begging him to give me another chance. As difficult as it's been to have absolutely no contact with him whatsoever, the last thing I wanted to do was call his bluff and risk having him block my number.

I'll admit, I'm more than a little nervous to know what he has to say. But I'm more curious than I am afraid, and so with a deep breath, I finally allow my eyes to drift down to the body of his message.

_Saw on twitter about the sxsw thing you're doing for Japan and wanted to say good luck._

After reading it over about fifty times, I slowly take a seat at the small table next to me and continue to gaze dumbly down at my phone for what any normal person would probably consider to be a ridiculous amount of time. Especially when I have absolutely _no_ time to spare today! But it's not like this is the kind of thing I can just shrug off and forget about until I can find a moment to address it. Anyone in my situation would need a moment to process this. But I'm not just anyone, I'm me, which means that I'm not going to be able to even _begin_ to process it until I've asked myself every unanswerable question that I can come up with.

What does this mean?

Should I text him back?

What if I text him back and it turns out he didn't want a reply?

But what if he _does_ want a reply and I don't respond?

Does this mean he's ready to talk to me again?

Is this his way of waving a white flag, or is it just a nice gesture that has absolutely no hidden meaning and in no way signifies that he wants anything to do with me?

If I _do_ text him back, what should I say?

" _Thank you_ " seems like the obvious reply, but it's not exactly open ended. Maybe I should try to come up with something that gives him a reason to text back...

But what?

I guess I could add a " _how have you been?_ " to that " _thank you_ ", but that seems kind of-

_Where are you? People need coffee!_

Trust my big brother to completely derail my train of thought. Not that the train was really getting anywhere very fast, but at least it was trying! Now I have to pick up this mountain of drinks, and go back to the studio, and try to pretend the guy I'm head over heels for and haven't spoken to in over a month didn't just text me out of the blue and turn my world upside fucking down.

On the brief walk to the studio, I seriously contemplate putting the drinks down again several times so that I can text him back. But every time I start to come to a halt on the sidewalk, I second guess whatever it was that I was going to say to him and decide to keep going. I _can't_ rush this. If I don't put enough thought into this I could say the wrong thing and sever this fragile thread that I wasn't even aware still existed between us.

Despite how insanely busy we are for the rest of the morning, it's not enough to keep my thoughts from wandering to Tommy's words every other second. It's as though my physical self is present, but my mind is stuck on what he said. I'm trying to crack some code that I'm not even sure exists, I have to believe it means something more. I wantthis to go beyond a one-sided text message conversation. I _need_ it to.

Because I need _him_.

Just after nine am, I manage to find a second to myself to slip away from the commotion in the studio and out into the relative quiet of the alley way downstairs. Since I haven't been able to come up with answers to any of my questions, and I definitely don't have any one here I can ask, there's only one person I can think of who might be able to help me figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do next.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but what the actual fuck are you trying to do to me?!" Alex asks groggily the second he answers his phone. "You do realize that it's eight o'clock on a _Saturday_ morning, yes?"

Normally I'd be a smart ass about it, but nothing about today is normal. "Sorry, I just need to ask you something."

"At eight o'clock on a _Saturday_ morning?"

"Tommy texted me." There's no cocky reply from him. In fact, there's no reply at all. "Alex?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Did you hear what I-"

"Yeah, I heard." He assures me, the sound of his mattress creaking faintly on the other end of the line. I'm guessing he just sat up and is now fully awake and attentive. "What did he say?"

"He just wanted to wish me luck with the telethon we're having today."

"Oh, right... I was _totally_ gonna do that when I woke up. First thing on my to-do list, definitely."

A tired smile curls my lips, he sounds so sheepish. It's very un-Alex. "I believe you."

"Good. So did you text him back?"

"Not yet. I don't know what to say, or even if I _should_ say anything." I sigh, leaning against the rough stucco of the building behind me. "Look... I know you guys hang out sometimes, and I know I said I wouldn't ask you about it or anything, I honestly don't wanna put you in the middle. But... does he talk about me? I mean... is this text totally random, or do you think there's a chance that he might..."

"Love you, miss you, and want you so bad it's killing him?"

"That's not what I was gonna-"

"I know, but I think he does."  He replies simply, instantly causing my heart to soar and skip several beats. "I don't know what's going on in his head, it's not like we've ever sat around and rehashed what happened. Actually, our friendship kinda hinges on me _never_ mentioning your name in his presence." There goes that hope I was so desperately holding onto. "But remember the other night when I texted you to say I was having a birthday drink in your honor?"

"I'm pretty sure you said you were having a 'bergfay frink' in my 'homo'. Have you never heard of auto-correct?"

"I hate that shit, it never knows what I'm trying to say!"

"Who does?"

"Right? Anyway, the point is... I wasn't 'frinking' alone." If I was sitting down, I'd be on the edge of my seat right about now. I doubt that he's purposely drawing this out, he's not sadistic enough to make me wait for this when he knows how crazy it's already driven me. But because I'm so desperate to know what he's about to say, I almost have to bite my lip to stop myself from demanding that he just spit it out. "Tommy called me from a bar downtown and asked if I wanted to meet him. He didn't _say_ that the fact that it was your birthday was getting to him, but something sure as hell was."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he was throwing back shots like his life depended on it. We've gone out drinking a couple of times now, but he always paces himself pretty well. I've seen him buzzed but never totally wasted. The other night it was like he was hell bent on getting completely trashed; _I_ couldn't even keep up!"

Now _that's_ saying something. Alex can drink me under the table any day of the week, and I can generally hold my own most of the time. I feel terrible to think that Tommy might have been deliberately trying to get drunk because of me...

But I'd be lying if I said that it didn't reignite that spark of hope. Hope that maybe he really does miss me as much as I miss him.

Hope that maybe this isn't over for him after all.

 


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it hasn't been long since the last chapter was posted, but as I said on twitter (@bloodflowsred, for anyone who wants to follow), I feel like this chapter isn't all that exciting, even if it is necessary to move the story forward. I didn't wanna make you guys wait for it, it's not worth waiting for lol, so I'm posting it now. <3

 

  


 

 

_ Burbank, California - March 23rd, 2011 _

This is probably a huge mistake.

I have that feeling in the pit of my stomach that I usually only get when I'm about to do something stupid. But I don't know how to _not_ do this. I knew I wasn't going to be able to resist temptation before we even got to Los Angeles. I told myself I would, but there was always a voice in the back of my head saying "no you won't". Honestly, though, _how_ was I supposed to come to L.A. without making a detour to Burbank? It's the first time I've been to California since Fools Banquet, and I don't know how to be here and _not_ see him. I can't be this close to him and just pretend he's not here.

I'm an incredibly flawed human being, not a fucking saint!

So here I am, standing outside of his apartment, trying to work up the nerve to knock. It's harder than I expected. Not that I thought it would be a piece of cake or anything, but I didn't think it'd take me ten minutes to lift my hand and actually rap my knuckles against the door, either. If I had any idea how he's going to react to me being here, maybe I'd be a little more confident about the whole thing. But I still have no clue what he's thinking or feeling when it comes to me.

I texted him back after he sent me that "good luck" message during South by South West. I thanked him and asked how he was. And he replied "fine". Just... "fine". It wasn't much to go on, it definitely didn't seem like an invitation to text him again. So I didn't. That probably makes me a total dumbass, but it just felt so... cold. I know it's difficult to tell through text, you can't hear the other person's tone or see their face. But it felt distinctly final. Like he was done talking and he didn't want to encourage any further contact.

Which is why I'm certain that knocking on this door is a stupid thing to do.

But I'm the king of doing stupid things, so here goes nothing...

I hold my breath as the lock clicks and the door begins to open, but as soon as Dave's face comes into view, that breath escapes me in the form of a disappointed sigh.

"Can I help you?" He asks as though he's never met me before in his life, but the look of recognition (and dislike) on his face makes it clear that he knows how I am.

"Uh... is Tommy here?"

A small smirk of amusement curls the corner of his lip, he looks totally smug, and I get the feeling that I'm about to be disappointed yet again. "Little out of the loop, huh?"

"Sorry?"

"Tommy doesn't live here anymore. Hasn't for almost a month now."

Fuck. _Seriously_?

"Oh." I know before I even open my mouth to ask my next question that I'm not going to get an answer I like, but I _have_ to try. "Can you tell me where I can find him?"

For a moment he seems to consider my request, but I'm pretty sure it's just an act intended to keep me hanging. "Hmm... nope, don't think so. If he wanted you to know, you'd know. Considering the fact you didn't even know he moved out, and that you apparently can't just call him and ask him for his new address yourself, I'd say he likely doesn't wanna see you."

I really want to just flat out call him an ass right now, because that's what he's being. But I guess it takes one to know one, and really he's just trying to protect his friend. I doubt Tommy told Dave or anyone else what happened at Fools Banquet last month, but he probably didn't need to. Dave seemed wary of me from the second we met, even more so after realizing I was married. In his mind I'm probably just some adulterous jerk who appeared out of nowhere, fucked his friend, and then left town. I'd bet good money that he thinks I'm looking to do the same thing right now, that this is just some booty call or something.

"Sorry I bothered you."

He doesn't say another word before closing the door, leaving me standing here with no idea what I'm supposed to do next. This was my plan. It might not have been very well thought out, but it was the only one I had! If Tommy isn't here, I don't know where to find him. Dave is the only friend of his I know at all...

Except for Alex.

I feel immensely guilty doing this to him, but as I pull my phone out of my pocket on the way back down to my rental car, I don't feel I have any other option. Well, I guess I have one other option: to give up on the idea of seeing Tommy at all before we leave Los Angeles on Friday.

But I _can't_.

"S'up holmes?"

"Really?"

"I guess not." He snickers to himself as I roll my eyes and smile faintly. "How's it going?"

"Uh... not great. That's kinda why I'm calling; I need to ask you for a _really_ big favor."

I hear him heave an over-dramatic sigh before he miserably laments that people "only want him for his body".

"That's not the favor."

"But...?" He coaxes insistently, waiting for me to relent.

"But you're still _really_ big."

"Thank you! Now you may have anything your little heart desires."

Oh, he is _so_ gonna regret saying that in about five seconds. "I need Tommy's new address."

" _Except_ for that." He quickly amends, and I'm not at all surprised by his reluctance. "I'm sorry, Tay, I can't."

"I wouldn't ask, but I have no other way of finding out, and I _need_ to see him. I don't know when I'm gonna be in L.A. again; we're gonna be so busy with promo for the new single soon, and then the summer tour... I just wanna talk to him."

"So call him."

"If I call him he'll know it's me and he probably won't pick up. Or worse, he'll block my number." A silence hangs on the line, and I can tell that if he didn't care so much about me he'd be pointing out that maybe those are both signs that Tommy doesn't _want_ to talk to me and I should just accept that. "Look, I know this is dumb, and selfish, and I'm probably gonna regret it, but I _have_ to try. I just think that if I do this face to face he might actually give me a chance to explain, you know?"

"Yeah..." My fingers grip my cell phone tightly as I squeeze my eyes shut and will Alex to give in and tell me where Tommy lives. "Look, I _can't_ tell you his address... but I can tell you where he's going to be tonight. If he asks, you didn't hear this from me, okay? Just... tell him you stalked his twitter or something."

"I won't tell him you helped me, I swear."

He takes another moment, probably to talk himself into telling me where to find Tommy, and it makes me feel like shit for putting him in this position. He's betraying one friend to help another. It doesn't matter who he's known the longest or who he's closer to, he clearly feels a sense of loyalty to both of us. And if it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have to compromise that. He wouldn't be afraid of making a decision that has the potential to cause us both more pain than we've already been through.

"He's-"

"No, wait." I cut him off suddenly, surprising even myself. "Don't tell me, forget I asked. _Fuck_ , I'm sorry, Alex."

"Don't be. I get it."

"I know, but I still hate myself for dragging you into all this."

"You didn't. We're friends; I'm in it no matter what."

Even though I understand why Natalie dislikes Alex, and even though she has every right not to trust him, _this_ is why I am willing to deal with whatever 'punishment' she throws at me as long as it means I get to have him in my life. I only wish I'd done it before, but back then I didn't _want_ someone constantly telling me it was okay to be gay and that I should just be honest with everyone. I thought I needed to sever ties with him in order to do the right thing by Natalie and our families. I couldn't handle a voice of dissent, I wouldn't have been strong enough to fight my own doubts if someone else was echoing them. I was stupid, and scared, and too proud to let him help me because I thought I was beyond help.

But just having him to talk to this past month has made it possible for me to get through. He may not blindly support my decisions, but he _always_ supports me.

After we've made plans to get together for a drink before I leave L.A., I open the Twitter app on my iPhone and search for Tommy's name. I haven't allowed myself to look at his tweets more than a few times since I last saw him. It felt pointless, like being on the outside looking in on glimpses of a life I would never be a part of again. It made everything more difficult, so I stopped doing it.

But apparently if I'd "Twitter stalked" him at some point in the past couple of weeks, I would have known that he's playing a gig tonight with some band called Ravi Dhar and the Heartless...

At a strip club just off of Sunset.

That's... different.

Am I _really_ gonna go to a strip club in Hollywood?

I want to say yes; if it means seeing him, I'd go any-fucking-where. But even though the odds are slim, if anyone there recognizes me, or anyone sees me arriving or leaving, I am going to be so entirely screwed. Forget the field day that the Perez Hiltons of the world would have with something like that, Natalie will make my life _hell_. A few years ago I was stupid enough to let people take pictures of me at a party in New York while I was drunk. I woke up the next day with a horrible hangover, which only intensified when I received a phone call from my near hysterical wife demanding to know why there were pictures of me all over the internet smoking and drinking while similarly drunk and skanky looking girls draped themselves all over me. Needless to say, she pretty much went everywhere with me for the rest of the year.

If she finds out that I went to a strip club, she'll never let me leave the house without her again!

But this is basically my only chance to see him while I'm here. I have a time and a place and a _guarantee_ that he'll be there. If I don't go, I won't have that again for who knows how long. Whatever the risks, I have to take them.

He's worth it.

Even though it's only six o'clock and the show isn't until after nine, I head out to La Brea anyway because I honestly have nothing better to do. Turns out there's an In-N-Out Burger a couple of blocks away from the club, so I decide to camp out there for a while and attempt to distract myself by surfing the web on my phone. But really all I'm doing as I aimlessly scroll down page after page is trying to figure out exactly what it is I want to say to him. You'd think I'd have it all figured out by now, I've had long enough to plan the perfect explanation for my behavior. But there _isn't_ a perfect explanation. There isn't really any explanation at all. There's no excusing the fact that I lied to him for months, and there's definitely no good justification for the fact that I had a decade long romantic relationship with my own little brother.

There's only the truth.

I just have to hope that he's willing to hear it, and that hearing it doesn't make him hate me even more than he already does.

By eight o'clock I've parked my rental car in the lot of some clothing store across the street from the 'venue', and I'm just... sitting. Waiting. I should have a pair of binoculars or something, I feel _that_ fucking creepy. But I don't want to spend any longer in that club than I absolutely have to, so until I see him arrive, I'm not setting foot in the door. Unless there's a back entrance, in which case I _won't_ see him arrive...

Damn it.

Just as that thought crosses my mind, a van pulls up near the entrance and about half a dozen people pile out of it and start unloading gear from the back. And one of those people is Tommy. I can't see him very well from here, it's getting dark out and the traffic rushing back and forth between us is constantly obscuring my view, but my breath still catches in my throat at the sight of him. It feels like I'm seeing him for the very first time all over again, and I can't even make myself move until he eventually follows his band mates into the club.

After waiting for a little longer in case he comes back outside to get more stuff from the van, I take a deep breath and psych myself up enough to get out of the car. I've never been to a strip club before, not once in my twenty-eight years on this planet. I never had a reason to; naked women weren't really high on my 'must see' list, and none of my friends ever wanted to have a stripper or go to a club for their bachelor parties, so I managed to avoid it.

Until now.

If this isn't love, I don't know what is.

I'm not sure what I expected, exactly, but what I find inside Crazy Girls isn't really it. It's not quite as seedy and dark as I thought it would be. It's almost like any other kind of club I've ever been to or played at. You know... except for the skantily clad women parading around. Another noticeable difference is the number of mirrors over by the stage. It reminds me of some kind of carnival fun house or something. I'm assuming their main purpose is to make men think there are really ten of every girl up there pole dancing; I don't see any other reason for _that_ many reflective surfaces.

Doing my best to stay out of everyone else's way and remain inconspicuous, I edge my way over to the bar and order myself a drink (because God know I need one right about now). And when I realize that the guy sitting next to me at the bar looks familiar, I start to panic a little. At first I can't place him at all. I _know_ I've met him before, and I'm sure he must be connected to Tommy somehow,  but...

"Hey, how's it going?"

Fuck.

Good job, Taylor. Staring at him was a _great_ way to avoid getting noticed. "O-okay. You?"

"Good, thanks." The guy smiles amiably, turning a little on his bar stool to face me. "Sorry, I know we've met, but I'm totally drawing a blank on your name..."

"I'm Taylor." _Seriously_? Would it have killed me to lie? It's not like he would've known!

Lying is the _one_ thing I excel at, and I can't even do that right anymore!

He narrows his eyes at me for a moment, clearly trying to remember how it is he knows me, just like I was doing five seconds ago. And his name comes back to me just as he puts my face to my full name. "Taylor Hanson, right? You came out to one of Adam's shows last year?"

I really suck at this whole fading into the background thing. "Yeah, I did. And you're... Monte?"

"That's me." He nods, sipping on his drink and glancing over at the stage. He seems less than thrilled to be here, bored almost, but maybe he just hates strip clubs as much as I do. "You're friends with Tommy?"

"Yeah." My forced smile falters a little when I realize that it's not actually true; I'm not his friend.

I'm not anything to him anymore.

"Here for moral support, huh?"

"Kind of." When it hits me that he might talk to Tommy and mention my presence before I have a chance to speak to him myself, I feel my heart start to race and panic begin coursing through my veins. "But uh... he doesn't know I'm here. I wanted to surprise him, so... don't mention it, okay?"

Smooth, Taylor. _Smooth._

"My lips are sealed." He smirks, and I get the impression that he just recalled all of the teasing Tommy used to endure from his tour family when it came to our 'friendship'. "There's a group of us here, actually. You're welcome to join us."

"Oh, uh... thanks, I appreciate the offer. I think I'm just gonna hang out here for a while, though."

"Okay, well, enjoy the show."

"Thanks, you too."

Since apparently I can't be trusted to sit at the bar and not make conversation with the first person I come into contact with, as soon as I have my drink in hand, I find a much less social location to hang out in for the rest of the night. I feel like some creepy ass lurker again, skulking in the shadows at the edges of the room, avoiding looking at or speaking to anyone around me, my eyes constantly scanning the club for any sign of him at all.

Until finally he and his band mates take to the stage and begin setting up.

All I want to do right now is go over there and hug him. I don't even care if he punches me in the face for it, I just want to be near him. But I know I have to keep my distance, at least until he's done performing. I don't want to throw him off and ruin his night by making my presence known before the show even starts. From what I understand, this is the first time they've ever played together in front of an audience. That's nerve-wracking enough without having to deal with your ex dropping in unannounced before the first song.

Besides, as long as he doesn't know I'm here, I get to stay. And getting to stay means that I get to watch him perform. It pleasantly surprises me when I see him lift the strap of an electric guitar over his head and I realize that he's not playing bass tonight. Not that I don't enjoy watching him play bass (or any instrument, for that matter), but I know that guitar is his first love, just like the piano is mine. It comes more naturally to him, and it makes me excited _for_ him that he's finally getting to play it live again.

If you're wondering how the show goes and how the band sounds... I couldn't tell you. I vaguely hear the lead singer (who I'm guessing is named Ravi Dhar?), and I instinctively nod my head and tap my foot along to the beat of the drums. But the majority of my focus is obviously on Tommy. And he is amazing. I don't think I've ever seen him _so_ in his element, so comfortable on a stage. He always seemed to be having fun when he was performing with Adam, and when he's jamming or in the studio it's blatantly obvious that he loves playing guitar. But it's a whole different thing to see him up there in the spotlight. Well... technically Ravi is in the spotlight, but in my very biased opinion Tommy stole it without even fucking trying.

I think that might be my favorite thing about watching him play; he doesn't have to try.

Everything about his performance is so effortless, it's as though he's playing for himself and we all just happen to be here. He completely loses himself in the music, and wherever it takes him looks so damn enticing that every single person in the room wants to get lost right along with him. He's utterly captivating. Just like the night we met, he's not center stage but he's the center of attention (at least, he is for me). It doesn't matter if he's playing with one of the biggest talents in the industry or some guy no one has ever even heard of, it's impossible not to notice him. He might not be the person people buy their ticket to see, but for a lot of them he's the one they're thinking about when they walk out of the venue at the end of the night.

But tonight it seems as though a decent portion of the people here _did_ come to the show specifically to see him. He's swamped by eager fangirls (well, fanwomen would probably be a more accurate term) the second he sets foot off of the stage. But he takes it all in stride, hugging most of them like they're old friends and taking pictures with the handful of people who ask for one as he makes his way through the crowd. There's no way I'm going to try to approach him in here; I really don't need an audience for this. Besides, I don't want to put him on the spot in front of his fans and his friends, and I want to let him bask in the well deserved afterglow of his performance.

It's enough, though.

For now, it's _more_ than enough to just stand here on the sidelines and watch him having a good time, no matter how creepy that makes me. Yes, I'm impatient to talk to him and to try to clear the air between us, but I can wait. I have the smile on his sultry red lips and his slightly self-conscious fidgeting to keep me distracted from the nagging need in the back of my mind. I think part of me, a _big_ part of me, is afraid that tonight might be the last time I ever get to see him or speak to him. And if that's the case, I want to commit every last detail to memory. From the way he looks to the way he moves, I want to remember all of it. All of him.

Eventually, after just over an hour of drinking and mingling, Tommy and the rest of his band mates say their goodbyes to the fans and friends who came out to the show and start to make their exit from the club. I almost ruin everything by rushing outside after them, only to find that they're still lingering on the side walk and taking a couple more pictures with people waiting there. Luckily I manage to go unnoticed and hang back until he heads for the van he arrived in.

I guess it's now or never...

 


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter. Possibly the longest so far. And it's... a lot. lol A lot of talking, because that's what Taylor does best. :p But Tommy has his own issues, so I think they can share the blame for this 6,500+ word angst-fest of a chapter.

  


 

 

He stops the second I say his name.

I know he knows it's me, because he doesn't automatically glance over his shoulder as though he's curious to see who just called out to him. He just _stops_ dead in his tracks. And, of course, the rest of his band gradually comes to a halt with him, and now they're all watching intently as he finally turns to see if it really is me standing here or if he's imagining things.

I can't tell from his expression how he feels. Besides shocked, obviously. I'm gonna choose to believe that the makeup he's wearing is the reason he looks so pale. His eyes stay glued to me for what feels like minutes, but it can't really be more than a few seconds. It's as though he's expecting me to vanish into thin air or turn into someone else. And when I don't, he turns his face away quickly like he can't bear to look at me at all.

One of the people with him asks him if he's okay, and he nods and says something to them all that I can't hear clearly from this distance... and then he starts walking determinedly towards to me.

"What are you doing here?"

He knows what I'm doing here, I think he's just having trouble believing that I actually had the gall to show up. "I just want to talk."

"Yeah? Well I don't. I don't have anything to say to you."

"That's fine, you don't have to say anything. Just give me a chance to explain, and then if you still want me gone, I'll go."

He shakes his head as a bitter breath of laughter drifts past his lips and into the night air. "You don't have to explain, Taylor, trust me. I'm crystal clear about the whole thing."

"Okay, then just let me waste an hour of your time." I continue to beg unashamedly, all but getting down on my knees on the sidewalk and groveling. "Please? One hour, and if you still want me out of your life..." God, I don't want to make him this promise. But at this point I think it's my only option, it's the only thing that might convince him to hear me out. "I'll never try to contact you again, I swear."

I'm not surprised that he appears skeptical of my offer; I'm not even sure that _I_ believe I'll keep my word. But if after tonight he still wants nothing to do with me, I _will_ respect that. If he listens to what I have to say and still has no desire to be part of my life anymore, or to allow me to be a part of his, I will walk away for good.

I'm just hoping with all my heart that it doesn't come to that.

Thankfully, after considering what I've said for an agonizingly long moment, he seems to relent. "Wait here."

I don't know where else he thinks I'm gonna go. Unless he tells me to fuck off, I'm staying put on this sidewalk until he leaves. I can't make out whatever it is he tells his band mates, but I can tell from the look one of them casts my way that it didn't go over too well. This other guy is familiar, but even less so than Monte was. I don't think we've ever been formally introduced but he certainly seems to know who I am, and the dirty look he's giving me right now makes it obvious that he completely disapproves of my presence. I feel a pang of jealousy in my chest as I watch the two of them interact; there's something very intimate about it, something that strikes me as more than just friendly concern. I can't help wondering if maybe they're seeing each other, or if they've at least had sex.

As stupid as it probably makes me, I honestly never thought about how Tommy's love life might look now. It's been so impossible for me to put him out of my mind, I just assumed that seven weeks was far too soon for him to have developed feelings for anyone else. But maybe it's not too soon for him to be sleeping with someone else; maybe he hates me so much that he didn't even need time to get over me.

Rebound or not, the idea of him with another guy (or girl, for that matter) hurts more than I can even begin to put into words.

When he finally says goodbye to them all and walks back towards me, it's with his eyes downcast and his arms folded defensively across his chest. He doesn't even look at me when we're standing in front of one another again, he keeps his gaze trained on the sidewalk at our feet.

"So...?"

So... what? Does he want me to start talking right here, right _now_? "Do you wanna... go somewhere?"

He glances at the club, and my eyes automatically follow his as we both contemplate going back inside. It's not exactly the venue I had in mind; it's too public and too loud. But if this is where he wants to do this, then I'll just have to deal with it.

"I don't care." He mumbles, continuing to look at anything and everything except me. "Where do you wanna go?"

"Well... we could go to your place?"

"No."

Knowing that he's not even willing to let me anywhere near his new home is like a sucker punch to the gut. But I can't blame him. Of course he doesn't want me to know where he lives, he probably doesn't want to risk creating any negative memories there that he'll be forced to live with day in and day out. It was a ridiculous suggestion.

And so is this one. "I'm staying at a hotel on Sunset..."

He seems understandably torn. Torn between getting this over with as soon as possible and being alone with me in a hotel room.  I can't decide who it is he doesn't trust here: me or himself.

"Fine." He sighs wearily, shrugging his shoulders in a belated and unconvincing effort to appear indifferent. "Whatever, let's just go."

It's only a five minute drive from Crazy Girls to the hotel, but the silence between us for the entire journey makes it feel ten times longer. It's like there's a fire burning through all of the oxygen in the confined space of the car and making it harder and harder to draw breath. And all the while I can feel the mounting pressure of knowing that when we get to where we're going, I somehow need to make him believe that I'm not the scum of the Earth if I hope to save any semblance of a relationship with him. But I need to be honest, too.

I really don't see how I'll achieve the former by doing the latter, but the latter is non-negotiable.

He doesn't say a word once I've parked the car and turned off the engine, and after taking a few seconds to try and find any string of words to offer him in an attempt to dispel this overwhelming tension, I give up. We head into the hotel and up to my room without speaking, without looking at one another, and making sure to keep at least an entire foot of distance between us at all times. It's such an incredibly empty feeling. Not once since the night we met have I ever been this physically close to him and felt like he wasn't here with me. Hell, I felt like less of a stranger to him that night at SNAFU before we'd even introduced ourselves!

But that all changes as soon as we step into the unlit hotel room. He doesn't so much as give me the chance to turn the light on before his lips are assaulting mine in a bruising, merciless kiss. I don't know if he intends for it to hurt, but it does. And it has to be hurting him, too, it's unavoidable. It's killing us both. But at the same time it's like tasting fresh air after being buried alive for months on end, and I gasp desperately, greedily breathing him in.

He pushes me harshly against the wall behind me, my back hitting it with such force that I hear myself whimper in pain. But he swallows the sound, his fingers curling in my jacket, his knuckles digging into my chest until it hurts so much that I can't even return his unforgiving kisses. When my mouth ceases moving with his he tears his lips from mine, leaving my mind spinning so fast that it's difficult to focus on anything. I can't keep up but I try my hardest to look at him, to _see_ him. It's too dark, though, and before my eyes can even attempt to find his, my attention is redirected to the sensation of his fingers hastily unbuttoning my jeans and impatiently tugging the rough fabric down over my thighs.

And then he's on his knees in front of me, and his mouth is on me, and my entire body feels so weak that I'm sure that if it weren't for the wall behind me I wouldn't even be able to stay on my feet. I don't know what's happening, I don't understand it at all. There's a voice in my head telling me that it doesn't make sense and that I shouldn't let him go any further until I can figure out what the hell has gotten into him.

But there's another voice, a much louder one, telling me that he wants this as badly as I do.

I was already turned on before I had his lips around me, the pure heat of his mouth enveloping me, he has me painfully hard and clutching hopelessly at his hair in only a minute. And as soon as he's satisfied with what he's done to me, he pulls back and stands up again. I hear the sound of another zipper, and this time it's not mine. The next thing I know, his slick palm is wrapped around my erection, stroking me just once before his fingers grasp at the back of my thigh and urge me closer. My hands blindly reach out for him, settling over his slender hips and letting me know that he's no longer facing me. He still hasn't said a word to me since we left the club, but here we are in my hotel room, and I'm literally mere _inches_ from being inside of him.

That thought leaves me paralyzed, dumbfounded by what's occurring between us, and unsure of whether or not I should stop it. Sensing my hesitance, he closes his fingers around me again, guiding me to him, his body pushing back to meet mine. I can feel him, feel the warmth of him so near, and after spending so long without him it's impossible for me to resist this hunger, this _craving_. It's like putting a line of coke in front of an addict who was forced to stop using against their will.

I can't say no.

He cries out as I start to enter him, and even though there's no doubt in my mind that it's a cry of pain, there's also an undeniable note of relief to it. Like this is something he's been _needing_ for a long time now. Like not having me this close to him hurt more than this rushed, frantic encounter ever could. That suspicion is only confirmed by the fact that he won't even let me slow down and attempt to ease into this in an effort to cause him less discomfort. When I falter for a second he forces me keep going, and I hear his fist slam violently against the surface of the desk that he's leaning over. He hisses out a string of expletives that sends a shudder of arousal down my spine, and my body begins to move instinctively with his in an easy and ever intensifying rhythm that's quickly pulling me towards the edge.

My forehead falls against his back as I come, the smooth leather of his jacket rubbing against my skin and reminding me that we're both still fully clothed. It's an unwelcome wake up call, ripping me out of the ecstasy I was drowning in only seconds ago. Maybe he has missed me, and maybe he did want this, but it's clear that he didn't _want_ to want it. He's still angry and hurt, and as much as he needed to be close to me tonight, he still made sure to keep me at a distance.

He doesn't finish, I don't think he even tried to. He gives me a very brief moment to catch my breath, but then he pushes himself off of the desk and forces me off of him before wordlessly disappearing into the bathroom behind me.  

After dazedly adjusting my clothes and rezipping my fly, I back over to the bed on unsteady legs and practically collapse onto it. I can't bring myself to turn the light on, I think I'd rather just stay hidden in the darkness. I don't know what to think or feel about any of what's happened over the past ten minutes. It's all so surreal, I can't even wrap my head around it. It's nothing I ever expected when I showed up at the club tonight hoping that Tommy would be willing to hear me out, that's for sure. And now I'm afraid that letting it happen has ruined any chance of him listening to me. I wouldn't be surprised if he walks right out of this room as soon as he's done cleaning up.

But he doesn't.

When I hear the bathroom door open, I put my anxiety attack on hold and sit up on the bed to face him. Only I can't face him when I can't even see him. I'm assuming that's just fine with Tommy, though, because not being able to see me will probably make this whole thing much easier for him. So it surprises me (yet again) when I hear him carefully walk past the bed and fumble around on the wall by the headboard until he finds the switch to turn on the lamp.

"Are you okay?" I ask apprehensively, my eyes following him closely as he slowly makes his way back to the foot of the bed...

And takes a seat beside me.

"Mostly."

"Did I... hurt you?"

He shrugs, like it's no big deal if I did or not. But it's a big deal to me. "You didn't ask me to force you to fuck me."

"You didn't _force_ me to-"

"You really wanna waste time debating this?"

"I guess I just... I don't really know what that was." I admit uncertainly, watching as he tucks his hair behind his ear and stares steadfastly at his jeans. "You didn't exactly seem happy to see me, and you hardly spoke to me... and then-"

"I forced you to fuck me." He repeats bluntly, and before I can attempt to argue, he cuts me off. "If you're looking for an explanation for it, I don't have one."

"That's fair."

"No, it's not. It just... is what it is."

I vaguely remember him saying that exact same thing to me before. I think maybe it was the last time I was here, and it was probably in reference to our relationship then, too. It's actually a pretty perfect way to sum up what we share, especially right now. It's the most open ended and ambiguous definition there is.

There's no word for us, no label. We are what we are... whatever the hell that may be. ****

"So... now what?"

"Well..." He takes a long, apprehensive breath, looking me in the eyes for the first time since he walked out on me at Fools Banquet and told me that we were done. "If you still wanna try to explain... I think I'm ready to listen."

"Honestly, now we're actually here... I don't even know where to begin."

"You could start by telling me how the hell you _ever_ wound up sleeping with Zac." That question could have very easily been asked in an accusatory and judgmental tone, but aside from a hint of hostility, he sounds nothing but curious and justifiably confused. "I mean... I don't even get how you could like... _think_ about it."

"I didn't." I tell him honestly, ashamedly, the events of my past playing out in my mind like a movie. "I never thought about it or planned it, it just... happened."

"But _how_?"

"He was just... he was my _best_ friend. We'd never spent a single day apart since he was born, we did _everything_ together. _No one_ knew me like he did, not even Ike. I can't explain it, we were just always closer to each other than we were to him. Not that we didn't love him, we just... had a different kind of connection, I guess."

"And I totally get that part, lots of brothers are really close. But-"

"I know. There's a world of difference between being close and doing what we did. And what we did was wrong, and immoral, and sick." I nod, not so much as flinching as I list off a few of the choice terms most people would use to describe what Zac and I were. I don't mean to sound dismissive, but I've never not been aware of it, and at this point the words barely affect me anymore. I know what I am, what I've done, and I know that I can never change any of it. "It didn't _feel_ wrong or immoral or sick, though. And I know that probably makes it even worse, but... I didn't see him as my little brother, I saw him as the _one_ person I could trust with anything. The one person in my life who truly knew me and still loved me unconditionally. At least, that's how it felt back when it all started. I don't know... maybe I was just a mixed up kid who confused one kind of love for another... but it never felt that way. Right or wrong, I know I _was_ in love with him."

He doesn't speak for the longest time, and I don't blame him at all for not knowing what to say. What _do_ you say to someone who tells you they were in love with their own brother? I don't expect him to just accept it and tell me it's okay, that it's all in the past now so we can just move on and forget about it. It's changed the way he sees me entirely. And maybe it should. It probably does make me a different person to the one he thought he knew, and if he decides that he can't be with that person, or worse, that he can't even stand to be in the same room as that person, all I can do is accept it.

I made these choices, now I have to live with the consequences.

"So... how did it start?" He asks hesitantly, almost as though he's not sure he really wants to know the answer. "You don't have to like... go into detail or anything."

"It was right after we first became really famous. We'd been travelling for months, we hadn't been home in forever, we spent Thanksgiving on a plane... our whole lives had changed practically overnight, nothing felt the same anymore. I mean, it was amazing in a lot of ways, but I just remember being really overwhelmed and... afraid, I guess. We'd been working for _years_ to get a record deal and be on the radio, and then suddenly it was all happening and it was even more than we'd all hoped for, and I was terrified of it all disappearing. I was terrified that _I_ would make it disappear for all of us."

"Because you were gay?"

I nod sadly, staring into the mirror on the wall directly opposite us. I don't see myself when I look into it, though. Well... not myself as I am now. I see myself at fourteen. I see the unbearable mixture of naivety, fear, and self-loathing in my eyes.

"Girls were throwing themselves at me every day, and I didn't want a single one of them. And I hated myself for it. I didn't _understand_ it. All Ike ever talked about was girls, girls, girls... I felt as though I should be as obsessed with them as he was, or at least not completely indifferent to them. I kept waiting for it to happen, for some switch to be flipped, like a light turning on in my mind. I kept waiting to be normal, but it never happened. I felt wrong. _Broken_. I'd never told anyone how I felt at that point, not even Zac. I didn't want to, he was just a kid. We both were, but..." I heave an incredibly tired sigh as I avert my gaze to my hands, picking viciously at my nails. "Anyway, right before Christmas in ninety-seven, we went to this awards thing in London. It wasn't really a big deal, it was kinda like their version of the Teen Choice Awards, I guess. We won a couple of awards for _MMMBop_ and everything... and then I won this _stupid_ award for being the most 'fanciable' male of the year."

Tommy snorts softly beside me and I can't help but smile a little myself, even though the memory of it has never been anything but embarrassing. "'Fanciable'? What hell does that even _mean_?"

"It basically means best looking, I think. Someone told me it meant sexually attractive, but... I don't know."

"Jeez."

"So I had to go on stage in front of an _arena_ full of screaming teenagers and accept this actual _award_ for being the guy that most girls in England apparently wanted to be with. It wasn't a band thing or a music thing, it was entirely about _me_. It was one of the most uncomfortable and humiliating experiences of my life, but I had to act like I thought it was awesome. And then everyone spent _days_ teasing me about it. Every radio interview we did, the DJ would ask which awards we'd won, and no matter how many times I tried not to mention it, Ike always made sure to bring it up. And it made me feel like such a fucking _fraud_."

"Why?" He asks gently.

"Because I was lying to them all. All these girls liked me because I was pretending to be this normal, teenage boy-"

"No, you weren't. You _were_ a 'normal' teenage boy, if that even exists. You just happened to like guys instead of girls."

"Yeah, well, I don't think most people would've seen it that way. I _know_ my family wouldn't have. And even if some of our fans would have been fine with it, there would have been a significant number of them who would have lost all interest in the band if they'd found out that I was gay. And I know that means they weren't our fans for the right reasons and that I shouldn't have cared if they walked away... but I _did_ care. I didn't want to take that away from Ike and Zac. We were already talking about our first big tour... we wouldn't have ever gotten to play most of the places we did if I'd been openly gay. It was nineteen-ninety-seven, not two-thousand-and-eleven. I wasn't Adam Lambert, I wasn't some out and proud _man_ , I was a scared and confused fourteen year old boy. Even adult 'boy band' members wouldn't come out of the closet because their management didn't want album sales to suffer. I wasn't oblivious to that stuff, I didn't need some guy in an office calculating projected earnings to tell me it was gonna negatively impact us if I came out. And it wasn't just our careers I was worried about ruining, I didn't want to disappoint my family. And I didn't even _want_ to come out, I didn't want to be gay, I just wanted to be fourteen and enjoy the fact that thousands of girls all over the world were throwing themselves at me."

"And I get that, too. And it's not that I don't honestly sympathize with all of it, because it must've _totally_ sucked and I can't even imagine how like... stressful, and lonely, and confusing it must've been. But... I still don't understand how that led to you and Zac fucking around."

"That's because I'm longwinded." I smile sadly, apologetically. "Like I said, Ike kept giving me shit about winning that award, and I just go so mad at him for it. We were at our hotel, hanging out in his room, and he started in again. I didn't wanna hear it anymore so I left and went back to my room, which I was sharing with Zac. I was really upset, like... on the verge of tears upset, and Zac wanted to know what was wrong. He was so worried about me, and I just started ranting about how Ike was a jerk, and how I wished I'd never won the award, and I wished all the girls who liked me liked someone else instead because I was never going to like them back. He told me that he felt the same way, and that they were all annoying, and he didn't know why they couldn't just like our music and stop jumping all over us all the time. I tried to tell him that wasn't why I didn't like them, I told him I didn't like _any_ girls, not just our fans. But he didn't understand, he couldn't. He kept telling me that he didn't like girls either, and he didn't think it was weird that I didn't... so I told him that I liked boys, and I asked him if he thought _that_ was weird."

"And he said no?" Asks Tommy inquisitively, his eyes studying me carefully, still desperately trying to truly understand it all.

"No, actually. He just looked _really_ confused. And then he said that he thought it was a little weird because boys weren't pretty, but that at least boys weren't as insane as girls." I laugh softly, tears brimming in my eyes as I vividly recall the complete openness and honesty in the wide brown eyes of my twelve year old little brother. "I told him that he didn't get it, and that when he was older he'd feel differently. And then _he_ got mad at _me_ and started telling me off for treating him like a baby, telling me that he was just as grown up as I was and he _did_ get it: I liked guys, what was the big deal? I tried to explain that most people didn't think it was okay for guys to like each other, that guys were supposed to like girls. I told him that if people knew that I liked guys then no one would listen to our music anymore. And I told him that I was going to be alone forever because I didn't like girls and I could never be with a boy, and _that_ was why I was sad."

"Wow..."

"Pretty much. But he just frowned at me, like nothing I'd said made any sense to him. And then he said that we could be 'alone together'. It was kind of funny, in a really depressing way. It was like... the sweetest thing he could've said, but I knew it wasn't true, no matter what he believed at the time. And I tried to tell him that, but he was _adamant_ that he'd never want to date a girl, and that he'd rather hang out with me. It was just... really exhausting and frustrating trying to make him understand, and I just kind of lost it. I started crying, and he came over and sat on my bed with me and hugged me. He kept telling me that it was okay, it was like he was _pleading_ with me to stop crying, like it was the scariest thing in the world to him. I told him that I didn't want to be alone, that I didn't want to never fall in love or even kiss anyone. I didn't want to spend my whole life singing songs about things I'd never felt or experienced, it hurt and it wasn't fair. And then he kissed me." I'm not surprised to see Tommy's eyebrows jump in shock. Even though he had to have known that _something_ like that was coming, it's still not the easiest pill to swallow. "He just pressed his lips to mine and... kissed me. Like it was totally normal. And I know I should have hated it, I should have been freaked out and told him not to... but it felt _good_. I felt loved. For the first time in months, I didn't feel completely hopeless and lonely. To him it was meaningless, though. He just wanted to give me something I'd been so afraid I'd never have. I wanted to kiss a boy, so he made it happen. Because in his mind it was that simple; once I'd kissed a boy I wouldn't be sad anymore."

"He didn't realize that it wasn't okay for brothers to kiss?"

"I don't know." I exhale a quiet chuckle, shaking my head because back then I rarely had any clue what was going on in Zac's head most of the time. No one did. "Honestly, I think he knew it was wrong, but he just figured it was okay if it was for the right reason. And for him, stopping me from crying was a good enough reason."

"I guess things are a lot less complicated in the mind of a kid."

"Exactly. And even though I definitely felt _something_ when he kissed me, I just wrote the whole thing off as him trying to be nice to me, and I tried to forget it. Once it was over we just... went back to the way things had always been, like it hadn't happened or something."

"So then how'd you end up getting together?"

"Basically... he hit puberty. And a few months after that we started our first tour. I know it sounds like the worst explanation in the world, but it's the truth. We were both horny, curious teenage boys at the mercy of our out of control hormones, and we were locked away in hotel rooms together night after night. I'd notice him watching me while I was changing, and I'd catch myself looking at him, too. I tried not to, but... We started doing this kind of... dance, edging closer, seeing how far we could push the boundaries of appropriate brotherly behavior before one of us got freaked out and stopped. But neither of us ever did; we trusted each other too much, more than anything. Sometimes it felt like the only consistent, real thing in our lives was each other. One thing led to another, and..." I glance at Tommy cautiously, trying to gauge exactly how disturbed he is by all of this. But he seems conflicted. It's as though he actually understands it, he understands how it could have happened, and he's more disturbed by that fact than by what I've just told him. "Nothing ever _felt_ inappropriate between us, even though we both knew better by then. I don't know exactly what he was feeling, but I know for me... it was the safest I'd felt in a long time. The most hopeful. Like... maybe someone might want me, and maybe I wasn't going to be alone forever after all. I think I just figured we'd both stay single for the rest of our lives, but in secret we'd be together."

"Why'd you start seeing Natalie, then?" He asks, his tone suddenly more resentful than it has been all night.

"I don't know... partly for appearances, as awful as that sounds. Everyone was always badgering me about never having a girlfriend, and I just wanted them to leave me alone. But it was also partly because something inside of me _wanted_ to feel for her what I felt for Zac. She and I really clicked when we met, and we started talking on the phone all the time, and we became really good friends. I wasn't attracted to her, I thought she was pretty but I didn't want her the way I wanted Zac. She was the first girl I'd been able to really talk to in years, though. We had a lot in common and she was _so_ sweet... I thought that if there was _any_ girl out there that I was capable of falling for, it had to be her. It _had_ to be..."

I hear my voice waver, and it makes me feel even weaker and more foolish than I already did. I don't want to fucking break down in front of him like a blubbering idiot. I want to be strong and get through this with some shred of dignity. I want to answer every last one of his questions, because I owe him at least that much. But I've never told anyone _any_ of this before, and it's even more difficult to say out loud than it has been to hold in for the past ten years.

"But after a year, I just felt like I couldn't fake it anymore. I didn't want to be with her and it was exhausting trying to pretend I did. It hurt to look her in the eyes when she said she loved me and have to say it back. It made me feel sick, _I_ made myself sick. I wanted to make a clean break, so I ended things with her _and_ Zac. I just wanted her to find someone who loved her like she loved them, and I wanted Zac to have a chance to be normal. He wasn't gay, I could tell. Maybe he was bi, but I don't think he was even sure of that. He'd never had a chance to figure it out, and that was _my_ fault."

The tears I've been fighting so hard to control begin to escape from the corners of my eyes, and I brush them away quickly even though I know there's no chance Tommy didn't see them already.

"I hated myself for letting things go as far as they had between us, for getting so caught up in how he made me feel that I didn't stop to think how much it would screw us both up in the end. And the longer it went on, the worse I felt about it all. So I tried to end it, I tried to let him move on and have a normal relationship. And at first it seemed to work. He'd started seeing Natalie's best friend around the same time Natalie and I got together, and they were really hitting it off. I thought everything was going to be okay... until I found out that Nat was pregnant and I had to marry her, then everything seemed so hopeless. I came _so_ close to giving in and downing every last fucking pill in the bathroom cabinet, it felt like the only way out... but once Ezra was born, I couldn't. I couldn't do that to him, I loved him more than I'd ever loved _anything_. So I threw myself into being a good husband and father, I tried _so_ fucking hard." I struggle to draw breath, the memory of how claustrophobic I felt back then overwhelming me and making me feel trapped and smothered all over again. "About a year or so after I got married, we were in L.A. for a show. It was actually the first time I saw Alex since we'd stopped talking. I guess I just let everything get to me that night; between being unhappily married, missing my friendship with Alex, missing my relationship with Zac, and completely loathing myself for all of it... I got drunker than I've ever been, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in Zac's hotel room. And after that... it just kept happening. At first I tried to stop it, but he made it seem like he _needed_ me, and that it would be worse for him if I _didn't_ give into it. I'm not saying it was his fault, it was mine... I was weak, and lonely, and I couldn't say no to him. I loved him and I wanted him to be happy. I know that sounds pathetic, it _is_ pathetic. I-I don't have any excuse, Tommy, _none_..."

Before I can stop myself, I'm crying, sobbing so hard that I'm not even sure if the next three words out of my mouth are at all intelligible to him. But I hope they are, because they're the most important of any I've said so far.

"I'm so sorry."

To say I'm taken aback when I feel him wrap his arms tightly around me is an understatement. But what's even more stunning is the fact that it's not just some awkward pity hug, a pat on the back and an insincere "it's okay". He's truly _holding_ me, he _wants_ to console me. And that fact breaks me even further as I cling to him, burying my face in the shoulder of his jacket. The leather that felt so harsh against my skin before is now the most comforting thing in the world. All I can do as I fall apart in his arms is weep the same sentiments over and over again.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry to Tommy. Sorry for making almost as much of a mess of his life as I've made of my own. Sorry for hurting him, lying to him, sorry for loving him. I'm sorry to Zac. Sorry that I was such a screwed up and lonely teenager, and that I let my selfish misery infect and destroy so much of his life, too. Sorry I wasn't a better big brother, sorry I broke us in ways that are quite possibly irreparable. I'm sorry to Natalie. Sorry that I married her when I never really loved her. Sorry that I've been cheating on her in one way or another since the day we met. I'm sorry to my children. Sorry that I can't stand to be at home for long enough to truly be the father they need me to be. Sorry that they don't have the kind of family they deserve so much.

I'm sorry to Isaac, and our parents, and my younger siblings, and my fans, and Alex, and anyone else whose life I've ever in any way altered with my lies.

I'm so, _so_ sorry. 


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to update again this soon, but my BFF has strep and told me it would make her feel better... (Dear BFF, this tactic will not work again for another month, at least. :p)

  


 

 

I haven't openly _bawled_ in front of another person in so long that I honestly can't remember when the last time was. I cried in front of Alex when Tommy walked out on me, but that was nothing compared to the emotional meltdown Tommy just witnessed. I rarely let myself get to this point, not even in private, so doing it while someone else is watching is a very strange experience for me. Not that I really have the presence of mind to care at first, I'm too busy sobbing into his shoulder and holding on to him for dear life to worry about how weird it is. But once my tears eventually begin to die down and I have to consider the idea of letting him go, letting him see me, I don't want to at all. Not only because I'm reluctant to release my grip on him after spending the last month and a half thinking I'd never get to hold him again, but because I'm so ashamed of my behavior. I'm ashamed of breaking down like this. I'm ashamed of the fact that he had to comfort me, even though it felt incredible to let him do it.

 

Mostly, I'm ashamed of everything I've told him.

 

I want to believe that he wouldn't have even attempted to make me feel better if he was so disgusted by me that he still wanted nothing to do with me. It _has_ to be a good sign that he's still here...

 

Right?

 

I guess at least I have nerve-wracking thoughts like that to keep me from worrying about how awful I must look as I slowly loosen the grasp I have on his jacket and begin to pull back. If my face is as red and splotchy as I'm guessing it is, he doesn't seem too put off by it. In fact, he reaches up and brushes one of the last, lingering tears off of my cheek with the pad of his thumb. Which kinda just makes me want to burst into tears all over again.

 

"Sorry." I murmur in embarrassment, instinctively wiping at my eyes and trying to take a deep, calming breath.

 

He smiles faintly. "You said that already. A lot."

 

"Yeah, well... it bears repeating."

 

"Are you okay?"

 

I can't believe he even cares at this point. I don't understand why he's still here, why he's being so considerate of my feelings. He's supposed to hate my guts; I wasn't prepared for the alternative. I couldn't let myself hope for that.

 

"You don't have to be nice to me."

 

"What do you mean?" He frowns, shaking his head slightly in confusion.

 

"I mean... if you still don't want anything to do with me, I understand. You heard me out, which was more than anyone else probably would've done... you don't have to sit here and pretend it's okay just 'cause I'm a mess."

 

"You're always a mess." He teases me lightly, though I don't see anything playful about the look in his eyes right now. It's nothing but genuine affection. "And I'm not pretending."

 

"Does that mean you don't hate me anymore?" I ask, attempting to insert some levity into my tone, as though it's not even a serious question.

 

It is, though. And I'm terrified of the answer.

 

"I never hated you, Taylor."

 

"It seemed a lot like you did when you said you never wanted to see me again."

 

"Well... yeah. I was upset, and confused, and in _a lot_ of fucking shock. I'm not saying I wasn't mad at you or whatever, because I was. But I never hated you." A sad smile tugs at his lips for a second. "Believe me, I tried to."

 

"So you don't think I'm gonna burn in the worst kind of hell?"

 

"Oh, no, you totally are." He smirks, offering me a gentle nudge. "But maybe we can be roomies or something."

 

I still can't seem to let myself believe that this is real. Something in me is convinced that he's only being this sweet to me because he's not the kind of person to be harsh with someone when they're so emotionally unstable. Having me sobbing in front of him brought out his sensitive, nurturing side and made him want to take care of me. But what happens when that instinct wears off? I don't want to let my guard down and think that this is going to last only to have my heart blasted to smithereens all over again. I don't think it can survive another hit.

 

"I was kidding."

 

"I know."

 

"Then why do you still look so miserable?" He asks in concern.

 

"I guess I'm just... nervous."

 

"About...?"

 

"Where all this leave us. You and me..." I answer, my eyes anxiously searching his face for any clue about what he's thinking or feeling so that I can attempt to prepare myself before he says it out loud.

 

He gives a non-committal shrug, his eyes falling to the comforter on the hotel bed. "I don't know."

 

"I understand if you don't want to go back to how it was, or if you can't. And I don't just mean because of all of this, I mean because it was already so complicated before this. I know you're better off as far away from me as you can get-"

 

" _I_ don't know that." He cuts me off in protest. "I thought I did, and I tried to look at this as a chance to just move on and put it all behind me. But... it's not that simple." I want to tell him that nothing ever is when it involves me, but I manage to keep my mouth shut. "I know I _should_ want out, I know I _should_ leave this room and never see you again..."

 

"But?"

 

"I guess I feel like that's a cop out, you know? It's like turning off a movie half-way through because the plot is confusing and frustrating, and you're pretty sure you're not gonna like the way it ends. It's giving up, and I _don't_ do that."

 

"How do you know that this isn't the way it ends?" I ask gently, not because I _want_ to talk him out of giving us one last chance, but because I want to make sure that he's doing it for his own reasons and not because he feels like he has to, like I'm dragging him back into this. Again. "Maybe this _is_ supposed to be the last time we see each other."

 

"But it's not. If it was, it wouldn't feel so... unfinished." With a deep sigh of resignation, he looks up to meet my eyes again. "I can't just bail halfway through this; I don't wanna spend my whole damn life wondering how it would've played out if I'd stayed."

 

"I just... I don't want to hurt you any more than I already have. And people generally tend to end up getting hurt one way or another if they spend too long around me."

 

He seems to contemplate this fact for a while, possibly reconsidering his former decision, but eventually a hint of a smile forms on his lips. "Maybe some of us think it's worth it."

 

I will not cry in front of him again. I will _not_ fucking cry in front of him _again_.

 

"You're kind of amazing, you know that?"

 

With a roll of his eyes, he looks away somewhat shyly. "No, you're just kind of crazy."

 

"What's your point?"

 

Rather than answer the question or try to argue with me (because he can't; he _is_ amazing), he opts for trying to distract me with a none-too-subtle change of subject. He groans tiredly, dropping his head into his hands as he rakes his fingers slowly through his messy blonde hair.

 

"I'm so fucking exhausted."

 

"Do you want me to give you a ride back to your place?" I offer, wondering if things have changed enough between us now for him to actually want me within a one mile radius of wherever it is he lives.

 

"Actually... I mean, if it's okay by you and everything, can I just... crash here?"

 

"Oh..."

 

"If it's not okay-"

 

"No, no, it's fine!" I quickly assure him, trying to wipe the stunned expression off of my face and replace it with something that vaguely resembles a casual smile. "Crash away."

 

Wow. There was absolutely _nothing_ casual about that.

 

"Okay." When he pushes himself up off of the bed we're sitting on, I'm convinced that it's so he can go and lie down on the second queen size bed a few feet away. But instead he heads for the bathroom again, pausing at the door for a second. "Don't suppose you have any make-up remover wipes?" He asks me semi-seriously.

 

I pretend to consider it, standing from the bed and walking over to my suitcase. I begin rifling through it purposefully for a moment, eventually sighing in defeat. "Damn. I _knew_ I forgot to pack something."

 

"Fuck you." He snorts in amusement, shooting me a playful glower before disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door.

 

I still don't think it's sinking in that any of this is real. I don't believe that Tommy has _really_ forgiven me, or that he still _really_ wants to be with me. I don't even believe that he's _really_ in the bathroom right now. It's just some figment of my imagination that I've been talking to for the past hour. I must have finally cracked and completely lost it. I'm seeing things, having heart-to-heart conversations with people who aren't actually present. It definitely sounds more plausible than me actually getting what I want.

 

 _That_ never happens.

 

While Tommy (or my imaginary friend) is washing off his makeup, I take off my jacket and jeans and get ready for bed. I haven't second guessed myself this much when it came to sharing a bedroom with him since the first time we ever did it in Oklahoma City. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable back then, just as I don't want to now. I don't want to assume anything and push him in any way. I know he basically said he's not ready to give up on what we have, but I still feel as though I need to back off and let him decide how far and how fast he wants things to go from here. I don't know how much ground, if any, we've lost over the past month and a half. I don't know if some kind of relationship reset button was pushed and we're going to have to start over from an as yet undetermined point, rebuilding what was destroyed.

 

I'm already changed and tucked safely beneath the bed sheets when he steps out of the bathroom and turns the light off behind him. He shrugs his leather jacket off and drops it over the back of the desk chair, and then toes off his shoes and starts to unbuckle his belt. I can't see his face, I'm pretty sure he doesn't want me to, and I quickly avert my eyes so that I'm not just lying here and watching him undress. But with my gaze fixed on the shadow painted ceiling above me, I have no way of knowing that he's getting into bed with me until the mattress dips, causing me to jump in surprise.

 

"Sorry..." He blushes faintly, offering me an uncertain half-smile as he starts to edge away again. "Should I sleep in the other bed?"

 

"No!" I protest, unthinkingly reaching out to grasp his arm and stop him from leaving. "I mean... I thought you'd want to, but-"

 

"Why?"

 

"I don't know." It seems stupid now, but five minutes ago it was a totally reasonable conclusion to draw. "I guess I didn't know how you were feeling about... everything."

 

"Well..." He breathes, allowing himself to settle down onto the bed beside me as he tugs the comforter up over his chest. "I _think_ I feel like it's a waste of time and energy trying to like... pretend we're something we're not, you know? Or that we aren't something we are... I don't know. We could go back and rehash a whole bunch of getting-to-know you crap and act like we haven't already been there, or we can just... put everything that's happened behind us and pick up where we left off."

 

"You really think you can _do_ that?"

 

"I think I'm doing okay so far." He declares with a smug smirk. "What about you? Can you go back to how it was before all this happened?"

 

"I want to." I tell him honestly. "It's pretty much _all_ I've wanted since the last time I saw you. I just... didn't think it was possible."

 

"Maybe it's not...  we won't know until we try, right?"

 

"Good point."

 

"But..." Of course there's a 'but'. This was all too good to be true; there _had_ to be a 'but'. "In the spirit of being honest and clearing the air... there's something I should probably tell you, too."

 

"Okay..."

 

"I mean, I _think_ I should tell you. I don't know. Maybe it's not even worth bringing up since it happened while we weren't together and everything, I just-"

 

"Tommy," He stops his anxious babbling and hesitantly looks me in the eyes, and the worry I can see in them doesn't do a whole lot to calm my own nerves. "It's okay. Whatever it is can't be any worse than any of what I told you, right?"

 

"True..."

 

"So... it doesn't matter. You can tell me, I'll be fine."

 

I can see from the expression on his face that he doesn't believe me, and he's probably right not to. It was a very bold statement for me to make before hearing this confession of his. I _want_ to be fine with whatever it is, I want to be a mature adult about it, but whether or not my heart will be able to let it go as easily as my head just professed that I would is another matter.

 

"Okay." He takes a deep breath, and I hold mine. "About a month ago... I slept with someone else." Fuck. "Actually... there were two someone elses. I mean, not at the same time or anything like that, but..."

 

"Oh..."

 

"I used protection. Both times." He quickly assures me, as if concern for my health was anywhere on the list of thoughts that entered my mind just now.

 

Maybe it should have been, but it's not. I can't seem to get far enough past the "this _hurts_ " part to care about anything else. But I know that I have no right to make this into a big deal. I lied to him and I hurt him _deeply_. What he did happened after that, as a _result_ of that. If I want to hold him accountable for it, I have to hold myself accountable for it, too.

 

"Who were they?" I finally ask once I can remember how to form words, my fingers practically crossed under the bed sheets as I silently repeat the same desperate thought over and over in my head:

 

_Pleasetell me neither of them was Alex._

 

"Well... the first time it was some girl I met at a bar after playing a show with Monte. It was just a drunken distraction kind of thing, you know? I was feeling like shit, and she was there, and... I don't know, I guess I figured the easiest way to get over everything that had happened with you was to try and forget it and move on. But it was just like... sex. It didn't even feel that good, which just pissed me off even more."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Until I met you, I'd only ever had sex with women. and I _loved_ having sex with women. But it just... didn't feel the same anymore. And it wasn't her, she did _everything_ right, it was me."

 

"Are you saying I turned you gay?" I ask, unable to keep a trace of a smile off of my face at the mere implication.

 

"You know what? Yeah, that's honestly what I figured the problem was!" He tells me, his tone tinged with amusement despite his attempts to sound annoyed. "I wanted to _be_ fucked more than I wanted to fuck someone. Which isn't something you can get from a girl without like... bringing accessories into it, and that didn't really sound too appealing to me." __

"So..." My smile fades as I realize what's coming next. "You slept with a guy?" He nods faintly, seemingly unable to look at me anymore. Clearly this is a bigger betrayal in his mind. "Was it Alex?"

 

"What? _No_!" I think my heart just came within seconds of being obliterated, and I can't help letting out a sigh of relief. "Don't get me wrong, there were a few times where I was either wasted or miserable enough that if he'd offered I might have done it. But... I honestly don't think he'd ever offer. At least, not seriously."

 

"Was it that guy at the club tonight?"

 

He looks completely lost, which makes me feel a little better because at least he doesn't look guilty, which means I'm probably wrong. "Which guy?"

 

"The guy who's in the band with you? The one who looked like he would have eviscerated me with his thoughts if he could have."

 

For a few seconds he still seems entirely confused, but just as I'm about to give him a few more hints to clue him in, he gets it. And he _laughs_. "Isaac? Hell no!"

 

"You guys just looked... close."

 

"We are, we're like brothers." He explains simply before quickly realizing that, after everything that's been said tonight, that statement doesn't seem as innocent as it once might have. "He's my best friend, nothing else. Besides, he's married. One married guy is _more_ than enough for me."

 

I guess I have to let that one go; I owe him more than a few playful jabs at my expense. "So if it wasn't him, and it wasn't Alex..."

 

"It wasn't anyone." He shrugs, looking away from me almost ashamedly. "I went to a bar in West Hollywood and went home with the first guy who offered to buy me a drink. I didn't know him, I didn't _want_ to. I just wanted to prove myself wrong, prove that I didn't like sleeping with guys any more than I liked sleeping with girls, that it was just a fluke."

 

"Did it work?"

 

"No." He chuckles softly, cheerlessly. "Well... yes and no. It proved that I don't like having sex with guys any more or less than I like having sex with girls. Which led me to the conclusion that I like having sex with you more than I like having sex with _anyone_. I guess that was part of the reason why I attacked you before. I mean, aside from the fact that I wanted to be with you... I think I was trying to prove myself wrong. Again."

 

"And?"

 

"And... I'm not wrong."

 

"Sorry." That probably sounded completely insincere, given the fact that I'm fighting like hell to keep from smiling right now. "I can see how being right would be... frustrating."

 

"You're fucking _loving_ this, aren't you?"

 

"What? No!"

 

He rolls his eyes, trying his best to seem unamused. "Go on, gloat. Get it out of your system."

 

"I don't want to gloat!" I laugh, recoiling quickly when he reaches out and feebly punches me in the arm. "What was that for?"

 

"For making me so fucking gay for you that I don't wanna sleep with anyone else."

 

"I didn't _make_ you gay! _You_ started it!"

 

I swear, I literally just _heard_ his jaw drop in indignation. "Like fuck I did!"

 

"You wanna recap? You kissed me first-"

 

"You sucked me off in a dressing room!"

 

"Are you _still_ hung up on that? So I went down on you in a dressing room, so what? _You_ showed up out of the blue and-"

 

"And you rented a hotel room!" He triumphantly points out, raising an eyebrow at me, challenging me to deny it.

 

Which I can't, because it's true. "I wasn't the one who called you from another continent for phone sex and then announced that I wanted you to fuck me."

 

"I was high, I didn't know what I was saying."

 

"Yeah? You weren't high the first time you let me actually do it."

 

"But I was still under the influence!" He counters defensively.

 

"Of _one_ whole beer!"

 

All he can do is stuff his face into his pillow in a failed attempt to muffle his giggles. I've just won this little argument and we both know it, even though I can't remember how it started. And I honestly don't care. The only thing I care about right now is this moment, the sound of his laughter, the smile on his lips, the warmth of his body so close to mine. I can't believe it's all real.

 

"Is this actually happening?" I blurt out unthinkingly, kicking myself as his giggles gradually die down.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Nothing." Why am I so lame? Did I really think 'nothing' would magically erase what I just said from his mind and wipe that confused look off of his face? Because it didn't, it just made it worse. "I just... I guess I'm still having a hard time accepting this."

 

"This?"

 

"Yeah, _this_. The fact that we're lying in a hotel bed together, laughing, joking... a few hours ago we weren't speaking and now it's like nothing ever happened."

 

He nods understandingly, his gaze falling from my face to the sheets covering his chest. "Yeah..."

 

"And now I just totally ruined it by saying that."

 

"No, you didn't." A faint smile curls his lips as he looks at me again. "You're right, it is weird."

 

"But not in a bad way... right?"

 

"No."

 

"I honestly never thought this was going to happen again." I admit quietly, unable to keep the sadness out of my voice as I recall how miserable every moment of the past six weeks has been without him in my life. "I thought I lost you."

 

"I thought you did, too."

 

I wasn't unaware of the fact, but hearing him say it makes it all the more real. It hits me hard, too hard. It's like reliving the last few seconds I saw him in Tulsa, like a flashback of some kind. I can feel the panic swelling in my chest until there's no room left for me to draw breath, I can feel myself losing him. And all I could do was watch him leave, even though every cell in my body was screaming at me to stop him. But I had no right, and there was nothing I could have said to make him come back.

 

The despair overwhelms me, I can feel it rising up, drowning me from the inside out, until eventually it overflows in the form of yet more tears that I'm incapable of keeping at bay.

 

"Sorry." I mutter in frustration, batting impatiently at my cheeks with the heel of my hand as I roll onto my back so that he's not forced to watch me cry like a fucking baby. _Again_. "I'm never usually like this, I swear."

 

"I know." He assures me gently, his fingers grazing against my arm in a tentative show of comfort. "You don't have to apologize."

 

"I just..." Turning my face to look at him is a mistake, because the second I see him my vision starts to blur all over again. "I missed you _so_ much."

 

"Ditto." He replies, and unless I'm very much mistaken, there's a waver of emotion in his voice, too.

 

The kisses that we share in the moments that follow are so different to the ones we shared when we first set foot in this room. But the one emotion that these kisses have in common with their predecessors is pure need. It's just a different kind. There's no hostility, no anger or resentment lingering beneath the surface. The only thing I feel coming from him as our lips meld flawlessly is a sense of release. The same release I feel as everything else falls away. All of the pain and the fear, all of the loneliness and the emptiness, all of it just... evaporates.

 

It's just us.

 

And nothing has ever felt _so_ right to me.

 


	52. Chapter 52

  


 

 

I couldn't sleep at all last night.

I was _completely_ exhausted, we both were, it had been one hell of a long night. Tommy fell asleep pretty easily, his kisses simply grew more and more languid until eventually he drifted out of consciousness right there in my arms. But I couldn't follow him. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to. My eyes _stung_ , all I wanted to do was close them and let my mind switch off the way it so desperately needed to.

But I was too afraid to let it happen.

All I've been able to do all night is lie here and look at him. I didn't realize that it was possible for me to be _more_ afraid of losing him than I was before, but I am. As of last night, he knows me better than _anyone._ He's the only person in my life I have ever been completely honest with. He knows everything about me, the good, the bad, and the extremely ugly. And he's _still_ here. I've never had that before, and now that I have it, the thought of losing it is absolutely petrifying.

I couldn't sleep because I was so afraid that he wouldn't be there when I opened my eyes again. That he would have second thoughts and sneak out before I woke up. Or worse, that it would all turn out to have been a dream. It felt too good to be true, so it was hard to convince myself that it wasn't. I _had_ to keep my eyes open, I had to stay awake. I needed to prove to myself that it was real, and the only way I could think of to do that was to wait for the sun to rise, wait for him to wake up. For some reason I seemed to have decided that as long as I could make it through the night, everything would be okay.

If he didn't disappear with the dawn, I would get to keep him.

It's after nine when he finally begins to stir, and I'm so close to falling asleep that I'm not sure I can stay awake long enough to say "good morning".

"What time is it?" He yawns, his head leaving my chest for the first time in hours as he rolls over in search of an alarm clock that isn't even there. My body feels colder the second he's no longer curled up against me. It's unexpectedly jarring, and even though he's still lying right next to me, I miss him.

"Don't know." I lie through a yawn of my own, though mine comes from the opposite end of the sleep spectrum to his. "Do you need to be somewhere?"

The question wasn't really a serious one, so the pause I receive in response is more than a little disheartening. "I'm supposed to be having brunch with Isaac and Sophie at eleven."

"Oh."

"How long are you in L.A. for?" He asks, taking my wrist in his hand and pulling it closer so that he can look at my watch. I kinda wish I'd taken it off so that he wouldn't be able to see how soon he needs to leave me.

"We're flying to Milwaukee tomorrow morning to start doing a whole bunch of radio promo for the new single."

"Right..." I can hear the disappointment in his tone, and if I wasn't so disappointed myself, maybe I'd be able to enjoy the fact that he clearly wants me to stay longer. "When're you gonna be back in town?"

"Not sure yet. I think there's a possibility we might be back in a month or so to do some TV stuff, but nothing's been settled yet."

"This sucks."

I can't help but smile a little at the pout on his face. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know he's doing it, and it's taking every shred of restraint I had to stop myself from leaning forward and kissing his slightly protruding lower lip.

"I know." I sigh wearily, brushing some of his messy bed hair away from his face, my fingers lightly tracing the angle of his jaw. I can't even explain how tempted I am to call Ike right now and tell him that I'm not going with them tomorrow. If only bailing on my own promo tour was even an option. "I wish I didn't have to go."

"Well... you don't have to go anywhere right now, do you?"

"No."

"What about later today?"

"No plans." I declare immediately, but I quickly remember that I do have one thing I'm supposed to be doing. "Actually, scratch that, I'm meeting Alex for a drink tonight."

"Oh... okay."

I know he's trying to be understanding about it when all he really wants to do is tell me to blow it off and spend time with him instead. But he'd never _say_ that, especially not when he knows that Alex and I haven't seen each other in weeks. He looks so torn. It's blatantly obvious that he's never really been in this position before. He's never been the kind of person who would even consider asking someone he's seeing to ditch plans with their friends for his benefit. He's not that clingy and needy.

At least, he wasn't until I came along.

"You should come with me."

He shakes his head, wrinkling is nose in objection. "Nah, it's okay. I've hung out with him a bunch the last month or so. You guys should spend some time together."

"We can spend time together with you there. It's not like we have anything to hide from him, and I _definitely_ don't have anything to hide from you."

"True."

"Besides, I really wanna see his face when we show up at the bar together."

 _That_ gets a giggle. "That would be fun..."

"So you'll come?"

"Maybe..." He hedges, and judging by the glimmer of mischief that just appeared in his eyes, I'd say he's about to propose something that has the potential to get me in all kinds of trouble. But I already know I'm going to agree to it. "How about I come to the bar with you, and _you_ come to brunch with me?"

"Are you serious?"

"As a psycho serial killer."

"I'm pretty sure Isaac hates my guts." I point out nervously, my eyes searching his for some hint that he's kidding about all of this.

"No he doesn't." I don't think I've ever heard him sound so unconvinced of something before. It's not exactly filling me with confidence. "Okay, maybe he does a _little_." Awesome. "But he won't if you come to brunch with me! He just needs to like... meet you and get to know you. All he knows right now is that the last time I saw you something happened that really got to me. If he sees that you're a good guy, he'll be fine."

"I don't know, Tommy..."

He pouts again, and unlike before, this time I'm certain he's doing it intentionally. " _Please_? He's really important to me." Ugh, he's not playing fair. "And _you're_ really important to me." _Really_ not playing fair! "It'd mean a lot to me if you met him."

"Well..."

"I would be _so_ grateful..."

" _How_ grateful?" I smirk, unable to resist the playful smile on his lips before they seek out the sensitive skin of my neck.

I still think this whole me-going-to-brunch-with-Isaac thing is going to wind up being  a very bad idea, especially since I'm running on zero sleep, but when Tommy is doing such incredible things to me with that ridiculously talented mouth of his, it's kind of impossible to care. He could suggest we go skydiving without parachutes right now and I'd enthusiastically agree.

Yes! _Great_ idea, Tommy! Anything you say, Tommy! Please _God_ don't stop, Tommy!

He's an evil genius.

Once I've accepted my "free preview" of his immense gratitude, I can't refuse to go to brunch with him. I really want to, though. The whole drive over to Burbank, I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from trying to talk him out of it. I know I owe him this, it's the _least_ I can do, even if I am convinced that it's going to be nothing but awkward for all involved. Besides, regardless of whether or not he was using dirty tactics when he told me how important the two of us are to him, I know it was still the truth. I don't want someone he cares about to hate me; I have to at least _try_ to make a good impression on Isaac. Maybe I can raise his opinion of me a little.

Maybe he'll walk away from this meal thinking of me as just regular scum rather than pond scum.

We pull up outside a restaurant called Tallyrand just before eleven, which I find pretty impressive because I'm generally always late to everything. Tommy's been quiet for a while now, and I've been trying not to read anything into it. But I get the distinct impression that even he's starting to second guess this little get-together, which makes me feel even _less_ comfortable with it.

"What did Isaac say when you told him I was tagging along?" I ask uncertainly as we get out of the rental car and make our way over to the restaurant. His continued silence and noticeable increase in pace strikes me as nothing but guilty. "You _did_ tell him... didn't you?"

"Not exactly."

"Tommy!"

"It's not a big deal!" He insists, but his inability to look me in the face and say that speaks volumes. "It'll be fine."

"I can't believe you didn't at least text him about it."

Apparently he has nothing to say to that; no excuses, no reassurances. Probably because he knows that it was a horrible decision and quite possibly just made an already bad idea even worse. But we're here now, and I told him I'd do this, so I guess the only thing I can do is put one foot in front of the other and walk into that restaurant... and hope that Isaac doesn't pour scalding hot coffee down the front of my pants.

The restaurant looks pretty much like any other family style diner I've ever been to. Nothing flashy, lots of beige and wooden furniture, and the mouthwatering smell of bacon and buttermilk pancakes hanging heavy in the air the moment you walk through the door. The hostess immediately grabs a couple of menus and offers to seat us, but Tommy politely declines and explains that we're meeting someone.

"Are you sure they're already here?" I ask him as we weave our way through the bustling building, dodging waitresses carrying plates full of breakfast foods that make my stomach feel ten times emptier than it did only a few seconds ago.

"He sent me a text a minute ago saying they had a table."

"For future reference, that would have been a perfect time to tell him that you were bringing a human sacrifice." I inform him, receiving an over-the-shoulder scowl in response. "I'm just saying!"

"Well how about from now on you don't say anything unless I tell you to?" He shoots back teasingly. "Just like... smile and look pretty. We'll all be a lot safer."

"Yes, ma'am."

My momentary good mood takes a huge hit when we finally find the table that Isaac and Sophie have commandeered for us at the back of the restaurant. The look on Isaac's face says it all; he does _not_ want me here. I notice his eyes sweep over Tommy quickly, taking in his lack of eyeliner and the fact that he's dressed in the same outfit he was in last night. He shakes his head slightly in obvious disapproval before forcing a very tight smile as he and Sophie stand up to greet us.

"Hey, sorry we're late." Tommy apologizes, an uncharacteristically nervous edge to his voice.

"You're not." Sophie assures him quickly, holding up her watch adorned wrist even though neither of us can see it from this distance. "We were early; Isaac needed caffeine."

"I can totally relate." I chuckle awkwardly, and she smiles back at me warmly.

But Isaac doesn't.

"Sorry, I don't think we've met..." She prompts, holding her hand out to me and looking to Tommy for an introduction.

"Oh, right, sorry. This is Taylor. Taylor, this is Sophie and that's Isaac."

"Nice to meet you. Sorry for crashing your brunch."

"Don't be." Sophie insists, waving off my apology as she shakes my hand. "The more the merrier. Right, babe?"

I know that tone. That's the same tone Natalie uses with me when she expects me to agree with her if I want to avoid getting the cold shoulder for the rest of the day. "Sure."

Isaac shakes my hand, but it's with an evident amount of reluctance and a complete lack of enthusiasm. Not that I expected any different, but it's definitely not helping to put me at ease. I really don't think that's his main concern, though.

We take our seats and Sophie makes a comment about flagging down a waitress to ask for another menu, but Tommy tells her not to bother because I can just share his. This earns an eye roll from Isaac that I'm pretty sure only I notice. I really don't know what I'm supposed to say or do to get this guy to like me even a little bit. It's obvious that he's already decided I'm bad news, and quite frankly... he's right. He and Dave both have very valid reasons for wanting me to get the hell out of their friend's life. They never get to see us together. They don't see how good we can be for one another, how much we make each other laugh, how comfortable and contented we are when we're together. All they ever see is Tommy alone and miserable because of me and this fucked up situation we're in.

Who _would_ want to see their friend stuck in a seemingly dead end relationship?

"So... you're from Oklahoma, right?" Asks Sophie amiably, sipping on her coffee.

"Tulsa." I nod, summoning the most sincere smile I can manage. "Born and raised."

"I've never been to that part of the country."

"It's honestly not worth the trip. I mean, I love a lot of things about Tulsa, but it's not my favorite place on Earth. Oklahoma in general is just kinda... flat. There's not much to see."

"Sounds just like where we grew up." She nudges Isaac good-naturedly, clearly hoping for some hint of a smile or any kind of confirmation that he's paying attention to the conversation rather than plotting various ways to kill me bloody. "Have you ever been to Eastern Washington?"

"Yeah, we played a show in Spokane last summer, actually."

"Well, that's not _as_ flat as where we're from, but it's not far off. Lots of farms and vineyards, and not a whole lot else."

"Sounds familiar. Except for the vineyards, sadly." Tommy smiles at me, and Sophie giggles softly... and Isaac clenches his jaw and stares into his coffee. "I love Los Angeles, though. I'm sure growing up in Tulsa was better for me in the long run, but I'd rather live near the ocean and be in a bigger city."

"Los Angeles is a cesspool." Declares Tommy unashamedly. "I mean, it has it's good points, but it's basically a glorified sewer when you get right down to it."

"Don't hold back, Tommy." Sophie laughs, throwing a packet of low calorie sweetener at him. "Tell us what you really think!"

"I said it has it's good points! I just don't wanna live here for the rest of my life. It's convenient for now, it's where I need to be, but I don't wanna be like... sixty years old and _still_ hanging out in Hollywood."

"So where _are_ you gonna be hanging out when you're sixty?" Asks Isaac, trying for a smile but not quite succeeding. "Tulsa?"

The two of them share a look. It's hard to define it, exactly; it's neither cruel nor kind. It's just... honest. "I don't know yet."

"Well _I_ like it here." Sophie quickly pipes up, just as desperate to dispel the mounting tension as I am. "I need the sun and the sea."

"Agreed."

"Does your wife like L.A., Taylor?" Isaac asks, his tone so benevolent that anyone who didn't know better would assume it was a completely innocent question.

Where the hell is our waitress? Doesn't she know it's her job to interrupt these kinds of conversations?!

"Uh... yeah, she does."

"She's not here with you, though?"

"Not this time."

"Right." He nods, idly tracing his finger around the rim of his coffee mug, his eyes never leaving my face. "Must be tough for her to travel with you when you guys have so many kids to keep up with."

Can I _please_ leave now?

"Are you ready to order?" An unfamiliar voice suddenly asks, and I'm almost sure I hear my sigh of relief echoed by Sophie and Tommy.

"Do you know what you want?" He asks worriedly, since I haven't so much as glanced at the menu yet because I haven't had chance. But I'd rather just order whatever he's having and be done with it than request an extra couple of minutes to decide.

"Yeah, I'm all set."

We go around the table and tell the waitress what we want, and even though I have no clue what's in the King Burrito that Tommy ordered, I honestly don't care, I just tell the waitress I'll have the same and a cup of coffee (which, thankfully, she promises she'll be right back with).

"Where are the bathrooms?" I murmur to Tommy as soon as she walks away.

I debated waiting a while before using the potty break excuse to escape, but I need to get up from this table and catch my breath _now_. He points me in the direction of the men's room, offering me an remorseful half-smile as I get up from the table. I'm not sure if the look I gave him adequately conveyed the fact that I don't blame him, so I gently squeeze his shoulder on my way past him in hopes that maybe that will get the message across more clearly. It's not his fault his best friend is treating me like shit. Hell, it's not even his best friend's fault. If I was anyone else, there wouldn't be a problem.

But I'm me, and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to change that.

I feel better just being ten feet away from that table, but I can't really enjoy it when I know it's only a matter of minutes before I have to go back over there and play nice while Isaac politely tries to rip me a new one. I should have been better prepared for this, but I guess even I didn't expect some of the low blows he's dealt me since I got here. I don't really know _how_ to sit and smile my way through the things he's saying, but I know I have to. I can't get up and walk out, and I can't run off to the bathroom every five minutes for the rest of the meal. Not unless I want everyone to think I have bladder control issues.

I guess this is karma biting me in the ass. And I can't complain; I _know_ I deserve it.

I don't actually use the toilet once I get to the bathroom, I never needed to and even if I did, I seriously think I'm too tense to pee. I stand in front of the sink and let the water run, gripping the cold, white porcelain as I watch it disappear down the drain, wishing I could go with it. The sound is soothing as it fills the empty room; I don't know what it is about water, it just always has a calming effect on me. A few deep breaths later I can feel myself begin to loosen up, but when I hear the door open behind me and I look up at the mirror and find Isaac staring back at me from the reflection in the glass, that sense of calm vanishes.

"I was told to apologize." He informs me bluntly, not even trying to sound contrite.

How do you accept an apology that hasn't actually been made? "Okay..."

"I'm not really sorry, though."

"I figured as much."

"You get why, right?"

I nod, because I honestly do. "You think I'm a two-timing jerk who's going to screw over your best friend."

"In a nutshell." He takes a step further into the bathroom as I turn to face him. "It was funny at first; he had a crush on the chick from Hanson, it was cute. We all gave him shit for it, and we laughed when he blushed and got all pissy with us and everything... but then it turned out that he actually _was_ sleeping with you, and it wasn't so funny anymore. You know, anyone with an internet connection can find out in point five seconds that you're married-"

"I know, but-"

"But you don't love her." He cuts me off dismissively. "So I'm told."

"Did he also tell you that I love _him_?"

Even though he does an admirable job of trying to hide his surprise, I can see that he wasn't expecting me to come right out and say something like that. And it's also clear that he didn't know how I felt at all. "No, he didn't."

"I'm not just sleeping with him, I'm in love with him-"

"But what does that mean for _him_ , exactly?" He questions in obvious concern. "You can say you love him all you want, but where _are_ you every damn day when he's out there by himself? I get that you have a family and a career, and that's awesome for _you_ , but what about Tommy? Where does he fit in? What does he get out of all this at the end of the day?" God, I wish I had any kind of answer to offer him. I just don't. I _don't_ know. "He can't wait around for you forever, you can't _let_ him _,_ it's not fair to him."

"You think I don't know that?!" I snap in frustration, leaving Isaac clearly taken aback by my sudden outburst.

"Look... I honestly don't wanna bust your balls, man." He sighs sympathetically, and I can't help but wonder if he feels genuinely guilty for everything he's said to me so far today. He certainly _sounds_ sorry. Maybe how utterly wretched I feel is written all over my face right now and it's making it impossible for him not to feel bad. "I believe you when you say you care about him... but I care about him, too. And I won't just sit by and watch him get fucked over, I'm not that kind of friend."

"And I don't want to hurt him. It's the _last_ thing I want. If I could just leave it all behind and be with him-"

"You would." He finishes for me knowingly. "That's great and everything, but if you _can't_ leave it all behind then you need to leave him instead. And you need to do it sooner rather than later."

I want to argue with him. I want to tell him that I can't leave Tommy, that it's not that simple. But it is. I _can_ leave him, I just don't want to. I _desperately_ don't want to. And I know it's not what Tommy wants, either, which makes it even harder to so much as consider it.

Only I know from experience that sometimes the right thing to do is also the most painful and the most difficult. The thing you least want to do.

"That's all I wanted to say."

Good, because it was already more than I know what to do with. "Okay."

He smiles faintly, ruefully. "I'm done being an asshole now, by the way. It's safe to come back to the table."

"Thanks."

We share one last look, a look that feels like an understanding of some kind. It's as though we just made some unspoken deal... I just don't know what it was. I'll admit that I'm more than a little worried that he thinks I just agreed to break up with Tommy, because I _didn't_.

But when Isaac opens the bathroom door to reveal a very pissed off Tommy standing right outside, I stop worrying about the agreement Isaac seems to think we've reached.

I'm _much_ more concerned with what Tommy thinks I just agreed to do.


	53. Chapter 53

  


  


 

 

"I guess that's what I get for eavesdropping." Tommy shakes his head incredulously, looking back and forth between us. I  can't tell which of us he's more upset with. "I just wanted to make sure you hadn't killed each other or anything. Looks like you're getting along fine, though."

Neither of us says anything before he turns and walks away from us, he doesn't really give us a chance to. And we don't seem to know what to say to each other once we're alone again. Looks like we're _both_ in the dog house now.

You'd think it'd be nice to have some company for once, but it's really not.

I'm a little surprised to find Tommy sitting at the table and talking to Sophie when Isaac and I make our way back out into the restaurant. I kinda thought he might have stormed out and I'd have to go after him and beg him to let me explain (yes, I do get sick of having to explain myself. I wish I could just stop doing dumb shit that gets me in trouble, but apparently I don't know how). He seems to be enjoying whatever conversation they're having, they're both laughing, and for a moment I stupidly hope that maybe he's not as pissed at me as I first thought.

But the second we take our seats again, his laughter dies out and a distinct chill settles over the four of us. Tommy seems to have developed an intense need to fold the paper napkin by his water glass into as many random shapes as he can. Either that or he's trying to make a swan. Sophie can obviously tell that _something_ isn't right, but she doesn't seem to have a clue what it is. In fact, I still have no idea if she's even aware of the fact that Tommy and I are sleeping together. For all I know, she just assumes that we're friends. Maybe she thinks her husband has his own obscure reasons for disliking me. Maybe she thinks he's jealous because his best friend has been spending time with me. Or maybe she thinks he wasn't a fan of _MMMBop_.

It certainly wouldn't be the first time that someone has hated my guts for no other reason than that song.

I can see how desperately Isaac wants to explain himself to Tommy, but he's apparently feeling just as incapable of it as I am right now. There's nothing either of us can do but sit here in awkward silence and wait for our food while poor Sophie struggles to find a conversation starter that will perk all three of us up a little. She goes through travel, politics, the economy, Japan, recent movie releases... and that's all before the waitress returns with our food! At one point she resorts to talking about the weather, and she asks me if I've ever seen a tornado up close. Sadly, I don't have any exciting 'Twister'-esque stories to share, so that topic is as short-lived as the others.

Not even the subject of music is enough to get Tommy to look up from his failed origami attempt.

When our brunches finally arrive, there's so much food that it actually makes me feel full just looking at it all. I don't really have much of an appetite at this point, but eating is at least a distraction from the pressure of making conversation. So, for the next thirty minutes, we all focus on our meals and politely refrain from talking with our mouths full. Every so often one of us throws out a hesitant comment about how good it tastes, but other than nods and smiles of agreement, there's little to no response from anyone else at the table.

This is really _not_ the first impression I wanted to make on two people who are clearly very important to the guy I'm crazy about.

The only time Tommy strings together a sentence consisting of more than three words is when the waitress brings the check once we've boxed up any leftover food we couldn't force down. He insists on paying for my meal, since he "dragged" me here, and even if I didn't already want to fight him on it because I don't want him spending money on me, I'd do it just to keep him talking. Eventually, though, I relent and let him throw another ten bucks on the table to cover my share of the check. I get the feeling he'd be even more annoyed with me  if I didn't, and that's the last thing I want.

The four of us walk out to the parking lot together, and it turns out that Isaac and Sophie parked much closer to the restaurant than we managed to, so we say goodbye to them at their car before heading over to my rental. But just as I unlock the doors Isaac calls out for us to wait, and I turn to see him jogging across the lot towards us. For a second I'm convinced that Tommy is going to ignore him and get into the car anyway, but he doesn't. He doesn't look particularly pleased about the fact that he couldn't get out of here without having to hear Isaac out, but he's still willing to at least let him talk.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Isaac apologizes the moment they're face to face. Well, they would be face to face if Tommy would look at him. "I know you think I shouldn't have said what I said, but you're my friend-"

"That's exactly _why_ you shouldn't have said it."

"No, it's exactly why I _had_ to." He insists, begging Tommy to understand why he did what he did. On some level, I'm sure he already does understand. If _I_ can appreciate Isaac's well-meant attempts to spare Tommy's feelings, I know Tommy does, too. "You're my best friend, I don't wanna see you get hurt."

"Well, FYI, having my 'best friend' go behind my back and tell the guy I'm seeing to dump me stings just a _little_."

"You know that's not how it was, Tommy."

"No?"

"No!" Isaac glances over at me for a moment, and I can't tell if he's looking for backup or silently begging me to leave so that he and Tommy can discuss this without my hard-to-ignore presence. "Look... can we get together tonight or something?"

"I'm busy." Mutters Tommy somewhat petulantly, and Isaac rolls his eyes and heaves a tired sigh.

It's like I can literally s _ee_ him adjusting his grip on his patience before it can escape him, and I get the feeling this isn't the first time he's had to talk Tommy out of a bad mood.

"Tomorrow, then. Come over for dinner or something?"

He doesn't answer right away, he seems reluctant to just give in and agree. But he probably doesn't have anything else planned, and I sincerely doubt that he actually wants to drag this out any longer than he already has anyway.

"Fine."

"I'll call you, okay?" Tommy nods, unable to keep a hint of a smile off of his lips when Isaac affectionately pokes him in the chest before turning and walking away.

The fact that he's willing to hear Isaac out gives me some semblance of hope that he'll do the same for me, too. He _needs_ to hear me out, because right now he's mad at me for something I never even said. He took my lack of objection to Isaac's advice as a sigh of my willingness to do what he'd suggested, but that wasn't the case at all.

For once, I didn't do anything wrong!

It's not until we're on the interstate and headed towards Los Angeles that he finally breaks the silence. And what he says almost makes me swerve right into the median because I'm so busy staring at him in surprise.

"Isaac was right about one thing: if you're gonna dump me, you should just get it over with now."

"I don't want to 'dump' you."

He shrugs, staring out of the window beside him at the passing cars. "I know. But if it's what you'd gonna do eventually anyway-"

"I'm _not_." Even though he doesn't argue, I know he doesn't believe me. It's the truth, though. I'm far too selfish to let him go; if this thing between us is going to end it'll be by his doing, not mine. "That wasn't the only thing he was right about, though."

Tommy frowns, unable to resist stealing a glance at me. "What?"

"It's not fair for you to have to wait around for me forever."

"Maybe not. But that's _my_ choice."

"Is it what you want, though?"

Apparently he has no answer for that question. At least, that's what I assume when he fails to respond in any way for at least a full minute. The question just hangs in the air, and all I can hear echoing throughout the car is an unspoken and yet painfully clear "no".

It's not what he wants.

"It's the closest I'm gonna get to it." He finally admits, surprising me yet again and leaving my heart feeling like someone just took a Wolverine claw to it. "Sometimes that's enough."

"Sometimes it's _not_."

"What're you trying to do here? Talk _me_ into breaking up with _you_ so that you don't have to be the one to do it?"

"No!" I really shouldn't be driving while having this conversation. I'm not the best driver in the world on a good day, and this is definitely _not_ a good day. "I'm just trying to make sure that you don't end up regretting this. Trust me, if there's one thing I'm an expert on it's how to fuck up your whole life by making one stupid choice."

"It's different-"

"Yeah, because you can walk away from this whenever you want, whether it's today or tomorrow or ten years from now. But the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be."

"So what are you saying?" He snaps in obvious frustration as I struggle to split my focus between him and the freeway traffic so that I can safely navigate us off of the damn interstate. "You think I'm gonna get tired of waiting and give up?"

"That's totally _not_ what I said! I'm just trying to say that you're not obligated-"

"Not _obligated_?"

Damnit, I can't even pick the right words! "I didn't mean obligated, just... there's nothing stopping you-"

"Fuck you, Taylor."

"What did I say now?!"

Tommy refuses to reply, he merely folds his arms across his chest and slumps in his seat. I kinda wish I could do the same thing, but if I did we'd crash into a brick wall. Funnily enough, it feels like that's all I've been doing for the duration of this drive so far. Apparently I've managed to exit the freeway in the slums of Los Angeles; I have no idea where we are exactly, and I'm kind of afraid to pull over in case we get carjacked. But I have to stop somewhere because this fight we're having is driving me crazy, and it needs to end _now_.

I bring the car to a less than smooth halt, tugging the hand break up and slamming it into park before unbuckling my seatbelt (you know, to make it easier on anyone who wants to reach into the car and drag me out) and turning to face him. "Okay, what the hell is going on?"

"It fucking figures that you have no clue."

"Tommy..." I am _this_ close to pulling my hair out! "Would you _please_ just talk to me?"

"You wanna know why I'm pissed at you?"

"Yes!"

"Because you just assume that I can call it quits without consequence whenever I fucking want to!"

When did I say that?! "I never-"

"I may not have any _obligation_ to be with you, we're not married, and we don't have kids, and the entire _world_ won't fall apart if I leave you, but that doesn't fucking mean that there's _nothing_ stopping me from doing it!"

Oh.

"When I said there was nothing stopping you... I didn't mean it like that." I sigh regretfully, my fingertips venturing out into the no man's land between us in order to tentatively stroke the back of his hand. He doesn't pull it out of reach, but he does turn his face away from mine. "I'm not trying to imply that it'd be easy for you to end this if you wanted to. I just mean that, in comparison to the mess _I've_ made of my life, it would be _easier_ for you to get out if you ever decided this was too much. I know it'll still be a really hard decision to make, though, and it's only gonna get more difficult to make it the longer we keep doing this."

"So you want me to end it now for my own good?"

"I don't _want_ you to end it _ever_. But that's not fair of me, I'm being selfish." As usual. "I can't promise you anything, Tommy, I don't know what's gonna happen to us, I don't know if this is all we're gonna have for the rest of our lives. And if it is... is that _honestly_ enough for you?"

"I already said-"

"I know. But taking what you can get because you can't have what you want is the same as settling for less, and I don't want you to do that. I don't _want_ you to end this, but I love you enough-"

"Taylor-" He groans in frustration, reminding me that he really cannot deal with hearing me say those words to him.

Well, fuck that.

" _I love you_ enough that, if you decide you need more than this... I'd rather lose you now than make you miserable indefinitely."

"We had this conversation, remember? _You_ don't make me miserable-"

"Maybe not, but this situation does. And if this situation doesn't change-"

"Then I'll suck it up and deal!" He concludes determinedly, holding my stare so steadily that it's hard to doubt him at all. "I'm not going anywhere, so stop trying to fucking make me."

I can't think of a single thing to say in response to that, so I don't say anything at all.

I just kiss him.

Usually the moment our lips meet it ignites a spark of passion that rapidly intensifies, engulfing us in something we're powerless against, consuming us completely. But this time it's the opposite. The debate we'd been locked in was heated enough, a different kind of fire, and this kiss is dousing the flames, dulling the heat and soothing the burns. It clears the heavy smoke that was making it impossible for us to see our way out, it makes it so much easier to breathe.

"Let's go somewhere." He proposes, his warm breath dancing across my skin and making it much too tempting for me to kiss him again before replying.

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

"We could go back to the hotel?"

He seems to consider our options for a moment, trying to decide which is most appealing. "My place is closer..."

Twelve hours ago he didn't want me anywhere near his apartment, he seemed afraid to let me get that close, to let me back into his life. And in those twelve short hours, he's gone from keeping me at arm's length to needing to be near me so badly that he wants to get out of this car as quickly as possible. I still can't wrap my head around it all and accept that this is real. I'd be a fool to say it was too easy,  because the past seven weeks were spent in my own personal hell, and it wasn't exactly a picnic to lay my soul bare to him last night.

But if the end result of all that pain is this, being even closer to him now than I was before, it was worth every last second.

When we get to his apartment he very briefly introduces me to his roommate, Mike, who seems pretty indifferent to my presence. After feeling as though everyone in Tommy's life has a not so positive opinion of me, it's nice to meet someone who apparently doesn't have any opinion at all. We exchange pleasantries, and then he watches in slight confusion (but mostly disinterest) as the two of us disappear into Tommy's bedroom together and shut the door behind us. But we don't end up doing whatever it is I'm sure Mike thinks we're in here doing.

Not unless he thinks we're watching old horror movies.

It's my fault; I made the mistake of telling Tommy that I'd never seen 'Dracula', and he looked so completely outraged that I half expected him to kick me out of the apartment. I guess I probably shouldn't tell him that I've never seen half of the films he's always fanboying over...

Then again, if being "educated" in classic horror movies involves spending hours snuggled up on his bed with him, it definitely wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, as long as I get to stay right here, with my arms wrapped around him and his head tucked perfectly between my chin and my chest, he could make me watch 'Crossroads' and 'Glitter' and I'd be _blissfully_ happy. Not that I'm actually _watching_ the movie at all (that's probably bad, right?). I'm way too fascinated by the very faint sound of him murmuring along with every last line being spoken on screen, his eyes fixed almost unblinkingly on the black and white characters before us. I can't remember the last time I saw someone _so_ absorbed in a film; it makes me think that maybe I should be paying more attention to it, because clearly it's something special.

But so is he.

After 'Dracula' ends, he insists that I confess my other "shameful movie-viewing oversights" so that he can "fix" me. Like I said, I don't care what film he puts on, chances are I'm going to be just as clueless about the plot when the end credits roll as I am when he first hits play.

I blame him for being so insanely watchable.

Three horror movies and one short nap later, we've got just enough time left to freshen up before we're supposed to head back to Hollywood to meet Alex for dinner and drinks. To be honest, I don't really _want_ to go anymore. I love Alex, and I do want to see him, but I don't want to trade this bed in for some packed, noisy restaurant full of random people. Part of me is seriously considering calling him and inviting him to come and watch movies with us. I'm sure he wouldn't say no to spending the night on Tommy's bed.

But the place we're meeting him at _does_ have really amazing food, and I _am_ really hungry...

Delancey is an unassuming little red brick building on the corner of Sunset and Tamarind. It doesn't scream "look at me" or "hang out here if you want to see and be seen" like a lot of other places in town, which is exactly why I suggested we meet here. That, and they have _really_ good pizza. Thanks to the fact that it's a weeknight and Delancey is on the wrong end of the Boulevard for anyone to care, we find some side street parking right away just outside of the psychic's behind the restaurant. Tommy immediately suggests that we go in there later before we leave, "just for fun". I don't bother mentioning that every time I come here I contemplate getting my cards done or having my palm read or whatever, but I never actually do it because I'm honestly too afraid of what they might tell me.

I'm not surprised to see that we're here before Alex; he's "fashionably late" for everything. We find a small table by the windows and order a couple of beers while we wait for him and browse the menu. It's so fucking hard to stop myself from idly reaching out and putting my hand on Tommy's thigh or touching his hair or his face or _anything_. Maybe it would've been a better idea for me to sit opposite him so that I'd be too far away to risk slipping up in public. But then I would have spent all night staring at him instead.

I'm seriously wishing we'd stayed in his bedroom right about now.

"Get the fuck out!" A pleasantly familiar (and slightly too loud) voice declares from somewhere just behind me, and the smile spreads across my face before I even turn to look at Alex. "I _knew_ it!"

The second I stand from my seat he has me wrapped in a hug so tight that I think I hear something crack, but I can't even breathe let alone speak to mention it. And I also kinda don't care; I've missed him too much.

"I knew it." He repeats at a much quieter volume, his mouth close enough to my ear that he barely has to raise his voice above a whisper for me to hear him. "I'm so fucking happy for ya, man."

"Me too." I grin as he pulls back and gives my arms one last, excited squeeze before turning his attention to Tommy.

"And _you_!"

"What about me?" Tommy challenges teasingly, cocking one perfectly shaped eyebrow at him.

"You look _hot_." Alex practically pushes past me to give Tommy a hug, and Tommy playfully rolls his eyes at me over Alex's shoulder as he returns the embrace. "I gotta say, happy is a good look on both of you. Don't get me wrong, the whole dark and broody thing is all kinds of fuckable. But I prefer this."

"Me too." I concur emphatically while Tommy takes his seat again and raises his drink in agreement.

"So, fill me in." Insists Alex, taking his seat beside me and looking back and forth between the two of us with great anticipation. "What happened?"

"You want the long version or the short version?" Tommy smirks, nudging at my shin with his foot under the table.

"If it involves hot make-up sex, I want the 'War and Peace' version! Just lemme order a drink first."

"Can we order some food, too?" Asks Tommy with the most pitiful (but adorable) pout on his gloss-coated lips. "I'm fucking _starving_."

"Wanna split a couple of pizzas?" Alex suggest, barely glancing at the menu before looking to us for a decision.

We're both so hungry that neither of us hesitate to agree, and since Alex doesn't eat meat and Tommy apparently doesn't care either way, it makes choosing two pizzas from the menu incredibly simple. As soon as Alex manages to flag down (and flirt with) the first waitress to pass our table, we place our orders and settle in for an evening of good food and good company. I can't even begin to describe how amazing it feels to be here with the two of them. We just... fit. This is completely natural for me; I can be myself, I don't have to put on an act or pretend to be anything I'm not with either of them.

As long as I don't let my mind dwell on the fact that it will all be gone again by this time tomorrow, maybe I can enjoy the simple satisfaction of being perfectly content for the first time in weeks. 


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter is the first time I legitimately got teared up while writing this fic. I don't know if it'll do the same to any of you, but I'm warning you now just in case. :p Don't say I didn't!

  


  


 

We end up hanging out at Delancey until way after midnight, but it's still buzzing with activity when we stumble out onto the sidewalk just before one am. Well, Tommy and Alex stumble, but since I'm driving I had the good sense to quit drinking an hour before they did. I'd be jealous of their drunken and completely carefree states, but honestly, being sober and watching them laugh at nothing in particular is highly amusing. It's almost like being drunk, just without the impaired mental performance. I get the best of both worlds.

"Hey, look, a psychic!" Alex exclaims as we approach the rental car.

"Where?" Slurs Tommy, turning his head to look over his shoulder and almost tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, which send Alex into a fit of laughter that's contagious enough to infect me, too.

"I think he was talking about the building we parked in front of, remember?" I explain to Tommy slowly, slipping my arm around his waist as he sways into me and nearly knocks me off of the curb.

"Let's get a palm reading!"

"No."

"You're no fun. I wanna know when I'm gonna die!" Alex exclaims buoyantly.

"If you don't get back on the sidewalk in the next five seconds, you're probably gonna die a lot sooner than you think!" I playfully warn him, shaking my head when he ignores me in favor of spreading his arms out to the sides as though he's flying as he tries to walk in a straight line down the middle of the street.

Good thing we didn't park _on_ Sunset Boulevard, or he would've been hit by a car already and then this wouldn't be anywhere near as funny.

"TommyJoe, the universe has showed me your future..." He declares in his most eerie tone, closing his eyes and emitting a high pitched humming sound for several seconds before finally throwing his head back and looking towards the night sky. "You will meet a tall, dark, handsome, _unmarried_ rockstar-"

"Hey!"

"Who is really, _really_ good in bed."

" _Another_ one?" Tommy sighs wearily. "Jesus, they're everywhere!" God, I love him. Whiskey breath and all. "I prefer my rock stars blond, married, and fucking _amazing_ in bed, thanks."

"Me too." Grins Alex, somewhat successfully managing to hop back onto the sidewalk behind us and drape his arm around my shoulders. "But they're in short supply, so we're gonna have to share."

"Fuck off, I've got dibs!"

"I had him first!"

"Finders keepers, losers weepers!"

I want to intervene and rule in Tommy's favor, really I do. But it's kinda hard to do or say much of anything when I can't stop laughing. They're being so childish, and they're both hanging on me so heavily that I feel as though I might fall down at any moment; I'm practically carrying them to the car. And it feels so fucking _good_.

I want to do this every night.

"How about we continue this debate on the way to the hotel?" I propose, opening the back door of the car and guiding Alex towards it.

" _That's_ what I'm talkin' about!"

He half climbs, half falls into the backseat of the rental car, but Tommy leans against the passenger side door to prevent me from opening it. He looks up at me with those big, brown eyes of his, his fingers idly playing with the front of my jacket as he pulls me closer.

"He's coming with us?"

"He's too drunk to drive." I point out apologetically, unable to tear my gaze off of that sultry pout on his lips. "Don't worry. If I know Alex, he's gonna pass out the second his head hits a pillow."

"So you're sayin' you wanna fuck me with him less than five feet away?"

"Well..." When he puts it like that, it does sound kind of perverted. I don't necessarily _want_ to sleep with Tommy while Alex is in the room, but I was counting on Alex being so wasted that he wouldn't wake up even if an earthquake hit. So _technically_ it doesn't count. "No, I was just-"

"That could be really hot."

Judging by the pleased smirk that's spread across his face, I'd say my eyebrows almost jumped off of my forehead in surprise just now. I don't know if he's serious or if he's trying to tease me, but either way... I have to admit that it's a huge turn on. Then again, practically everything he does is a huge turn on. Including the way he's leaning into me right now, letting his mouth linger mere millimeters from mine, just close enough that I can feel his breath and vividly imagine how he'll taste...

He doesn't let me kiss him, though.

When I try to, he grins and dodges my lips over and over again before finally opening the car door and tumbling gracelessly into the passenger seat. He's barely gotten his legs inside before I'm pushing the door closed after him and making a mad dash to get behind the wheel. The hotel is a good ten minutes drive from here, and I don't want him falling asleep on the way over!

Unfortunately, by the time we get to the hotel, park, and get a barely functioning Alex up to my room, Tommy is only semi-conscious. He still insists that he wants to have sex, and that he'll "totally wake up once we start" (which is _so_ very encouraging), but as I suspected, the second his shirt is off and I'm kissing my way down his bare chest, I hear the undeniable sound of a soft snore. I should probably be annoyed, but I'm not. I _did_ want to fool around with him, there's never a time when I don't, but when I look up his peaceful face I can't find it in me to be even slightly upset.

He doesn't so much as grunt in protest when I remove his shoes and socks and tug his jeans off, he's so out of it that he doesn't even flinch. But after I've stripped down to my underwear and crawled into bed with him, pulling the comforter up over us both, he instinctively rolls towards me and drapes one arm over my chest. I chuckle softly as he wedges his face between my arm and my ribs. It doesn't look comfortable _at all_. In fact, I'm pretty sure he can't even breathe. And he's absolutely no help as I gently lift his head onto my chest and wrap my arms around him, holding his warm body against mine.

No, we're not going to be having sex tonight, but it's impossible for me to be disappointed.

When I begin to drift back to consciousness the next morning, the events of the previous night are like an unfinished jigsaw puzzle in my head. And as I slowly begin to put the pieces together, my eyes fly open in shock. Because the bed sheets are no longer covering my body, but an entirely naked Tommy is. His tongue is teasingly tracing the curve of my bellybutton, and my eyes automatically dart to the bed Alex was sleeping on last night, my heart racing with an overwhelming mixture of emotions. His bed is empty and unmade, and as I take a deep, calming breath, I hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom.

"Morning." Tommy grins up at me devilishly, quickly returning his lips to my lower abdomen and resuming his journey south.

"Mmm... morning." I sigh contentedly, lazily lacing my fingers through his messy bed hair as my back arches off of the bed. "Feeling a little impatient today?"

"I just figured I owed you after last night."

I could argue with that, because I honestly don't feel that he owes me anything... but I'm not gonna. "How long has he been in there?"

"'Bout... two minutes." He tells me between long, leisurely kisses as he gradually peels my underwear over my thighs, clearly feeling no need to rush himself.

A tremble runs through my whole body and my breath catches in my throat the second he delicately wraps his fingers around me. He's taking everything _so_ slowly, making every touch feather light and yet _so_ purposeful, it's enough to make me whine. I feel his soft, hot tongue graze against the tip of my erection, and I gasp as I grab at the bed sheets and fight to keep my hips from bucking needily against his mouth. But when he does it again, delicately dragging his lower lip over the head, that fight becomes so much of a challenge that I'm left breathlessly _begging_ him for more.

No one else has ever done this to me before. Obviously I'm not saying that I've never gotten a blow job before, because I've had plenty of them. Just not like _this_ , not the way he does it. Natalie has made it pretty clear that she doesn't like doing it; she saves it for special occasions only. And even if she was any good at it (which she's not, really), I can never really enjoy it because a) she's a girl, and b) I _know_ she's hating every second of it. Alex, on the other hand, gives _amazing_ head. But as with everything else he does, he dives right in and races right through it. Zac... he always _said_ he liked doing it, but more often than not he was the one receiving, not the one giving.

Tommy genuinely seems to get off on doing this to me almost as much as I get off on having it done. Circumstances permitting, he takes his time and makes it last as long as he possibly can, for _both_ our sakes. He doesn't rush to "get it over with", and he doesn't skip over all of the teasing to "get to the good stuff".  I know he was joking that time he said he was a natural at it, but _fuck_ , it's _no_ joke!

It's like his mouth was _made_ for doing this.

His hand strokes me once, deliberately, squeezing gently  until he coaxes a drop of pre-cum from the tip. I watch him over my chest as it rises and falls with each erratic breath, my eyes locked with his while he slowly lowers his mouth and laps it up. And _moans_.

"Oh _Fuck_ , Tommy..."

Of course, this is the time that housekeeping chooses to knock on the door and announce their presence, waiting less than a second for a reply before inserting a key card into the lock and opening the door. Thankfully, there's a corner they'd have to turn after walking into the room before they'd be able to see us, and they don't make it that far before I frantically yell "Not now!"

She apologizes profusely in a thick Spanish accent, quickly retreating back out into the hall while Tommy buries his face against my thigh and laughs uncontrollably. I try to glare at him, but it's not like he can see it, and I can't keep the smile off of my own face, either. Even if I am more than a little frustrated right now.

"Every. Fucking. Time." He giggles, shaking his head in disbelief. "I think the universe is trying to punish us."

"Sounds like something the universe would do."

"Maybe I should stop?" He suggests oh-so-innocently. "I don't wanna make the universe mad..."

"But then the universe wins." I point out, squirming in anticipation as he idly trails his finger along my hip bone. "Is that what you want?"

With a solemn shake of his head, he starts to lower his mouth back to my body, but he hasn't even made it halfway there before _another_ knock on the door interrupts him. I really just want to yell "fuck off" right about now, but I know the room maid is only trying to do her job. Maybe she didn't properly understand me last time. Or maybe it's a different one entirely. I can exercise a little patience.

I think.

"Come back later, please!"

Apparently that translated to "please knock relentlessly on the door until you completely ruin the mood and force me out of bed", because she's not giving up. This is what I get for being so desperate to fuck Tommy last night that I forgot to hang the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door.

With an irritated groan I slip out from underneath him and grab the sheet off of the bed Alex slept in last night, wrapping it around my waist and stalking over to the door. But it's not a room maid I find on the other side, it's my older brother.

"Hey, where the..." He stops, noting my flushed cheeks and lack of clothing. "Do I want to know why you're wearing a bed sheet?"

I can very confidently say "No."

"Where the fuck have you been?" He asks, pushing past me and inviting himself into my room. "We haven't seen or heard from you since-"

Tommy has already covered himself up by the time Ike sees him, but it doesn't matter. It's obvious that we were just in the throes of pre-coital passion; we're both naked and looking incredibly guilty. I notice his jaw clench in anger before he even turns to face me again, and the look in his eyes is one he reserves for my absolute worst offenses.

"Are you shitting me?! I thought this was _done_ , Taylor!"

"Yeah, well... it's not." I shrug, instantly kicking myself for being so flippant about it. It's only going to piss him off more, and the more pissed off he is the worse it's going to make this.

Speaking of making things worse, Alex chooses this precise moment to start belting out Maroon 5's 'Misery' at the top of his lungs. I don't _want_ to laugh, but the mental image of Alex dancing around naked in the shower, coupled with the expression on Ike's face right now, is just too much! I bite my lip to try and keep it in, but that barely works, so I cover my mouth with my hand and attempt to fake a cough. Which is all it takes to leave Tommy with his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"No..." Ike shakes his head, staring in the direction of the bathroom door, his face completely pale. "Tell me that's _not_ who I think it is, and tell me you didn't fucking do what I think you did!"

"Calm down, Ike."

"It was bad enough when it was just him," He vaguely points in Tommy's general direction, apparently unable or unwilling to look at him. "But now you're screwing around with Alex, too?! Are you _trying_ to ruin us?"

"I'm _not_ screwing around with Alex! He's just taking a shower-"

"You honestly expect me to believe that he spent the night in here with the two of you like this," He waves his hand accusingly at my bare chest. "And _nothing_ happened?"

"Whether you believe it or not, it's the truth. Just 'cause I'm gay, that doesn't mean I sleep around and have threesomes at the drop of a hat."

His face somehow pales even further, and I can't tell if it's because of the mental image of me fucking Tommy and Alex at the same time, or because I just openly referred to myself as gay. I know he prefers to ignore my true orientation, and he can only ignore it if I don't talk about it. But whether I say it or not, it's still real; I _am_ gay. It's part of who I am, and I can't change it.

That's something I'm _finally_ starting to truly come to terms with for the first time in my life.

"Forgive me." He retorts, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't mean to imply that you have no moral compass. You're such a faithful husband and devoted father, of course you'd never do such a thing! Oh, wait..."

"Very funny."

"No, it's not. It's not funny _at all_ , which is why I fail to see why the two of you think it's so fucking amusing!" He suddenly turns to Tommy again, and I was so unprepared for it that I don't have chance to intervene before he unleashes months worth of fury and fear on to him. "Do you get off on this? Huh? Do you get a kick out of watching a marriage fall apart and knowing that it's because of _you_?"

"Ike, back the hell off!"

"He has _kids_! I don't know why I expect that to mean anything to you, though, since you're obviously far too fucking selfish to understand the kind of commitment it takes to be a father. But let me tell you something, It's _life long._ " He turns to me again, shaking his head in disappointment and disgust. "At least, it _should_ be."

"It is! I _love_ my kids-"

"You've got one hell of a strange way of showing it, Taylor."

"This has nothing to do with them!"

"No? Between the two of you, you're _destroying_ their family! You really think that won't affect them?"

All I really want to do right now is go back in time and _not_ open the hotel room door. And if that's not an option, I just want to throw up. He's right, everything I do has the potential to ruin my kid's lives. Not that I was unaware of that before, but it's a hell of a lot easier to pretend it's not true when no one is saying it out loud. And it's so much worse that he had to go and say it in front of Tommy.

 I don't know what Tommy is thinking or feeling right now, aside from an immense amount to shame. I want to go over there and tell him that none of this is his fault, I don't want him to feel guilty for the choices _I've_ made. And I know that the fact that my first instinct is to comfort him only makes me a much bigger ass than Ike just accused me of being. If I was a decent person, a good father, I wouldn't desperately want to save this relationship, I'd give it up for the sake of my children. Their feelings should be my first concern, not Tommy's.

"Whatever. I just came by to make sure you were okay. Looks like you're doing just fine, so I'll leave you to it." He mutters bitterly, bumping me roughly with his shoulder as he walks past me on his way out. "Our flight is at noon, so maybe your _guests_ should leave soon."

He slams the door behind him, causing the picture frames on the walls to rattle with the aftershock of his exit. I think it's fair to say that Tommy and I are both more than a little rattled, too. When I glance over at him to try and gauge how he's feeling, he quickly looks down at the crisp, white bed sheets in his lap, his hair hanging in his face and making it impossible for me to see him. I want to tell him that I'm sorry, but it's such a meaningless word at this point. I could tell him Ike was wrong, but we both know he's not. No, Tommy isn't intentionally trying to hurt people, neither of us are, but what we're doing _is_ selfish and it could cause a lot of people _a lot_ of pain.

When the bathroom door opens unexpectedly, I feel myself recoil. It's as though I'm afraid of receiving another emotional flogging, even though I know it's Alex and not Ike who just walked into the room. At first he's too busy toweling off his hair and humming to himself to notice the debilitating tension in the air. But after only a few seconds he stops in his tracks, like he literally walked into the wall of ice that's now standing between us.

"Whoa..." He looks at me, and then at Tommy, and then his shoulders sag in resignation and dread. "Shit, what'd I miss?"

"Nothing." Tommy mumbles dejectedly, holding the sheets around his waist as he shifts off of the bed and gathers up his clothes from the floor. "I'm gonna get dressed."

I feel incapable of moving or speaking until he disappears into the bathroom, but as soon as he's gone my legs almost give out under me and I sink down onto Alex's bed. He sits beside me in silence for a moment, but I can feel his eyes on me, feel the concern and curiosity coming off of him in waves.

"Did you guys have a fight or something?"

"No." I shake my head faintly, staring hopelessly at the closed door separating me from Tommy. "We just got a rude wakeup call."

Alex frowns and immediately looks over at the phone, and I almost want to laugh at the fact that he took what I said so literally. But it's takes him no time at all to figure out what I really meant. "One of your brothers found Tommy in here and gave you shit for it?"

"Ike really laid into us both just now. It was... _bad_."

"Fuck him."

"Alex-"

"No, seriously, _fuck_ him." He shamelessly insists. "He's talking out of his ass, as usual."

"The problem is, he's _not_. He's right, and we both know it. He's not the one who needs to stop, we are."

"So what're you saying? It's over again, just like that?"

"No." Maybe. For all I know, that's exactly the decision Tommy is making right now. "I don't know."

He shakes his head, seemingly just as exasperated by all of this as I am. "This is such _bullshit_!"

"Alex-"

"No. I know we hadn't seen each other in a hell of a long time until last month, but from what I saw when we were friends, and what I still saw from a distance when we weren't, _this_ is the happiest you've ever been. You fucking light up around him Taylor, it's _insane_ , I wish you could see it."

"I don't need to see it, I _feel_ it."

"And you're gonna let that go?"

"I don't want to, Alex, but what else am I supposed to do?"

"Fight!" He argues earnestly, as though it's the most obvious answer in the world. "For once in your life you forget about what everyone else wants and you _fight_ for what _you_ want."

"It's not that si-"

"I swear to God, if you say 'it's not that simple' I will fuck you up." I don't know why I'm laughing. Even if it is just a soft chuckle, it's still more amusement that I should be feeling or showing right now. There's nothing funny about this. It's excruciatingly serious. "Do you want to lose him again?"

" _No_!"

"Do you think that sitting out here pouting over what Ike said is making anything any better for either of you?"

"No, but-"

His hand is suddenly over my mouth, silencing my protests. "So stop. Stop talking, stop thinking, and _do_ something."

"Like what?" I ask once he allows me to speak again.

"I don't know! Whatever the hell it is that your gut is telling you to do right now."

I'm not used to going with my gut. In fact, I've always worked very hard to ignore it and do the exact opposite of what it wants me to do in every aspect of my life besides my music. It never wants the things it 'should' want, and it's always nagging at me to do things I'm not 'supposed' to do.

I shouldn't want to go into that bathroom and beg Tommy not to second guess us. I'm not supposed to want to continue our relationship after hearing all of the harsh truths my brother just spat at me... but my gut instinct right now is to be wherever Tommy is, and to do whatever I have to do to keep him.

So I get up off of the bed and walk over to the bathroom door.

There's nothing but silence coming from inside. No running water, no muffled sounds of clothes being pulled on, no hint of movement whatsoever. If I didn't know better, I'd think he wasn't even in there. When I open the door I find him sitting on the edge of the bathtub, still wrapped in nothing but a thin, cotton bed sheet, staring pensively at the beige tile floor. He doesn't look up at me as I step into the room with him and close the door behind me, or when I slowly take a seat beside him on the cold, white porcelain. He seems so small right now, vulnerable... I'd even go so far as to label him fragile. And all I want to do is protect him, which is ironic considering he wouldn't need to be protected from anything if it wasn't for me.

As usual, _I'm_ the reason he's hurting.

"He's right." His uneven, broken voice cuts through the unbearable quiet. "About all of it."

"He was right about me being an irresponsible asshole, but everything he said to you was-"

"True." He argues plainly, drawing in a long, deep breath before forcing himself to meet my eyes in the mirror opposite us. "I don't know what it is to be a father, I have _no_ fucking clue. And I try like hell not to think about the fact that you are one... because if I think about it, I have to care about what this is doing to your kids. I don't want to care about that, Taylor. I don't want to care because I'm selfish, just like he said."

"No, you're not."

"Yeah, I really am." He looks away again, his expression entirely guilty. "I _do_ get a kick out of knowing your marriage isn't doing so great. I mean, part of me feels like shit about it, but I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a part of me that fucking _loves_ it. Because there's this voice in the back of my head telling me that, maybe if things get bad enough, you might actually leave her. And then maybe..."

The lump that took up residence in my throat the moment I walked in here and saw him instantly doubles in size. I swallow hard, trying but failing to rid myself of it, momentarily at a loss for words and too busy trying not to scream in sheer frustration. I'm so tired of putting him through this, I just want it all to stop. I want to make a choice, once and for all, and I want to choose him. But I don't know _how_. It's the most terrifying decision I've ever been faced with in my whole life, and every time I start to think that maybe I really can just pick up and leave my whole world behind for him, I come up with a million and one very valid reasons why I can't.

"Tommy-"

"Just... lie to me?" He begs plaintively, making that lump in my throat even bigger and bringing harsh, salty tears to my eyes.

It figures that when he finally becomes the one person in my life that I can be completely honest with about _everything_ , he also becomes the one person in my life who has ever flat out _asked_ me to lie to them. But I know he needs this. He needs me to lie to him because lying to ourselves is the only way we can keep this up. He needs me to lie to him because the truth is too fucking painful to accept, even though we're both constantly fully aware of it.

We can't escape it.

I reach up and carefully brush the hair out of his sorrowful brown eyes, my faintly shaking fingers lingering on the smooth skin of his cheek as my forehead comes to rest against his.

"We're gonna be okay." I lie, just like he asked me to. "I promise."


	55. Chapter 55

  


  


 

 

Despite Tommy's insistence that he can just take a cab home, and Alex's offer to give him a ride after I drive him back to where he parked his car last night, I eventually manage to convince him to let me take him back to Burbank. If this is the last hour I'm going to get to spend with him for the foreseeable future, I'm going to make the most of every last second of it. And even though we're both still too miserable to really be happy about anything, I can tell he's actually glad that it's me taking him home instead of Alex or some random cab driver.

We don't really speak to one another for most of the journey. But surprisingly enough, the silence isn't a bad thing. I half expected everything to feel heavy with tension, but it doesn't. We might not be laughing and joking like we were last night, or flirting the way we were first thing this morning, but I definitely don't get the sense that he's wishing I'd never tracked him down at Crazy Girls and that the last two days hadn't happened. Maybe things aren't perfect right now, but they're not ruined, either. They're damaged but they're not irreparable, and I'm going to do whatever I can to fix them.

The quiet lingers for another minute or so after I've pulled the car over outside his apartment building. It's time for the dreaded goodbye. Again. It never gets any easier; we never seem to know where to begin or how to end.

"So... you have radio promo now?" Asks Tommy, and I can tell he's only slightly interested in where it is I'm going when I leave here. What he actually wants to know is how long it'll likely be before I come back.

"Yeah, for a few weeks. Then... I'm not really sure what's next, honestly. I know we're going to London for a week or so at the beginning of June, but I'm not sure what the plan is for May, yet."

"Right..."

"How about you?"

He shrugs apathetically, like his life doesn't even matter. "Adam's probably gonna be working on his next album for a while yet, so I doubt we'll be doing any shows or anything anytime soon."

"Sorry." Again he shrugs, and I want to tell him not to. I don't want him to fake indifference when I _know_ he still misses last year's tour so much. But I don't want to risk turning our last few minutes together into a fight, which is exactly what I could do if I put him on the defensive by forcing him to talk about how he's really feeling when he clearly doesn't want to. "Are you gonna be playing any more shows with Isaac?"

"We have another Ravi show next week, I think. And I'll probably end up playing bass for Monte every so often."

"That's cool... I mean, at least you'll get to play."

"Yeah."

Maybe it was stupid of me to hope that this exchange would be less depressing, that he wouldn't be too unhappy to even attempt to make small talk. And really, I don't want him to fake it. If this is how he's feeling, I'd rather see that than some forced smile that he'd only be wearing for my benefit.

"I'll be back." I assure him, my finger tips brushing the back of his hand hesitantly, hopefully. And it surprises me when he wraps his own fingers around them and holds on tightly. "Soon."

With a gentle tug on my hand he pulls me closer, his mouth seeking mine, his heart seeking more comfort than I think anything I say or do right now could possibly offer him. It doesn't matter if I come back soon, because I'll be gone again all too quickly. And it doesn't matter if I kiss him now, because it's just brings us one step closer to saying goodbye.

"Call me." He murmurs against my lips.

"Promise you won't have my number blocked?" I tease thoughtlessly, instantly worrying that it might have been the wrong thing to say.

But it turns out it was quite possibly the perfect thing to say. I _feel_ him smile before I hear him laugh softly, and he shoves me away from him playfully as he tries to force his face into a scowl. "Bite me."

"Next time."

I swear his eyes light up at the prospect. "Deal."

With that very tempting thought on both our minds, we share one last kiss that's noticeably more passionate than the one before it. And then we reluctantly let each other go. He unbuckles his seatbelt and slowly opens the passenger side door, making a move to get out of the car but stopping at the last second to look at me again.

"Have a safe flight."

"Thanks."

He smiles softly, and even though there's something undeniably sad about it, I can tell that he really does feel at least a fraction better now than he did five minutes ago. He may not be as blissfully happy as I wish he could be, but if I lower my expectations to a reasonable level, it's enough. That smile is enough to help me put the car in drive and pull away from the curb. It's enough it keep me going until the next time I get to be this close to him.

The drive back to LAX doesn't take as long as I'd thought it would, which leaves me kicking myself because it means I could have spent an extra half an hour with him. Instead I get to spend that half an hour in a busy airport with my brothers, one of whom I want to punch right now and the other... I still don't even know what's going on between me and Zac. I guess we're living in denial or something, refusing to acknowledge our past for fear of what it might do to our present _and_ our future. I highly doubt it's the healthiest way for us to deal with things, but if it means we're able to be civil to one another and co-exist peacefully, I'm _not_ going to mess with it.

Once the three of us, our guitar tech, and our personal assistant have checked our bags and made it through security, Isaac mutters something about seeing us on the plane and wanders off to who-cares-where. Zac and Muff hurry off to the gate in search of a power outlet and a couple of empty seats so they can set up Zac's pocket projector and play 'Need For Speed' for the next couple of hours. Which leaves me and Bex to entertain ourselves. It's actually kind of perfect; she's precisely the person I need to talk to.

"I wanna take a look at our schedule for the next couple of months." I tell her as we accept our drink orders from the Starbucks barista and grab the first empty table we see. "Do you mind going over it with me really fast?"

"You're a work-a-holic, you know that? Would it kill you to just sit and enjoy your coffee for ten minutes?"

"Yes."

She rolls her eyes, and we both set down our cups and retrieve our laptops from their bags. I'm sure this must look like some kind of choreographed dance to anyone watching. We simultaneously place them on the table, then open them at the exact same time and turn them on. I used to find it amusing, now I rarely even notice it. Bex has been with us for six years, she's practically part of the family. Wherever we go, she goes. It's not that we can't do anything for ourselves... it's just that we'd fuck things up a hell of a lot more frequently if she wasn't around. She knows everything about everything. She started off as our tour manager and now... I don't even know what her official job title is. I refer to her as our personal assistant, but she's way more than that. If we didn't pay her so well, I'd feel bad for the amount of shit she has to put up with. She's seen all three of us at our best and worst. Sometimes I'm kind of shocked that she's stuck with us this long.

If I were her, I would've ditched our sorry asses _years_ ago!

"Okay..." She sighs, hitting a few keys quickly and lightly running her finger over the touchpad. "What're we looking at, specifically?"

"I know we've got radio and TV promo all over the place for the next few weeks, I guess I just wanted to get a better sense of what's after that."

"Well, you're doing Posted for VH1 all through next month while you're doing the promo tour, which is going to be _really_ good for you guys, exposure wise." True, but it doesn't help me to spend time with Tommy so I don't care. "Then you're back in Tulsa for a while after that."

"Are we in Tulsa for the whole month before the UK Five of Five?"

"You'll be home for most of May, but you'll still be working, obviously." Bex informs me, peering carefully at her computer screen. "You have the members only event on Hanson Day..." _Fuck_. I totally forgot about that. "Other than that you don't have a whole lot scheduled. Yet."

"We fly to London at the end of May, but between the sixth and then we're pretty open, right?"

"In a sense, yes. You don't have any promo or anything planned, but I assumed you guys would probably be rehearsing for the Five of Five pretty much the whole time."

Right. I knew that.

Shit.

"Yeah..." I sigh grudgingly, resting my chin on my hand as I stare glumly at the calendar on the screen in front of me.

Three 'empty' weeks.

The odds of me having another block of time like that after we start touring this summer are slim to none. But Bex is right, we need to spend that time rehearsing for our London shows. We have to have live performances of _every_ single song on all _five_ of our studio albums perfected, and even though we've done it once before, that was almost a year ago.

Everyone needs a day off to recharge their batteries, though, right?

Maybe even two days?

Possibly a nice, long weekend...?

But what about my kids? I'll have been gone for a month by the time I finally get home. Any free time I have between then and our stint in London, I should be spending with them. And I _want_ to spend it with them, I do... but I want to spend it with Tommy, too. I really wish I could clone myself or something. Then one of me could stay in Tulsa and be the perfect father and husband my family needs me to be, and the other me could run off to California and live happily ever after with Tommy.

It's a flawless plan!

Since I'm all out of scheduling questions, Bex heads off to find herself some magazines for the flight, leaving me by myself. Technically I'm surrounded by people, but that's never stopped me from feeling alone before. There's only one thing I want to do right now. Okay, that's not true. There's only one thing I want to do that I actually _can_ do, and that's hear Tommy's voice. I relax against the back of the not-so-comfortable wooden chair I'm sitting in, listening as my phone rings and rings... and just as I'm starting to think he's not going to answer, the ringing finally stops.

"Hello?" He asks uncertainly, as though he's skeptical that it's actually me.

"Hey."

"Hi..." There's a pause, and I'm starting to feel as confused as he sounds. "Everything okay?"

I thought it was. As okay as it was likely to get, anyway. "Yeah.... why?"

"I just wasn't expecting you to call until tonight when you got to your hotel."

That's so sweet. It's like he thinks I have self-restraint or something. "Hell no. I would've called sooner, but I only just got rid of everyone."

"I just saw you like an hour ago!"

"It's actually closer to ninety minutes. And?"

I hear him snort in amusement, and I can vividly picture him rolling his eyes at me, which just makes me grin like the crazy person he apparently thinks I am. "You're so damn _needy_."

"You love it."

He doesn't argue, he just laughs softly. It's still my favorite sound in the world. I love music, I don't think I could possibly live without it, but I can't think of a single song that I would choose to hear over the sound of his laughter. I've spent my whole life trying to make _everyone_ happy, but when he laughs like that it makes me think that if I could just make _him_ happy for the rest of my life it would be enough for me.

"So what're you doing?" He asks with a lazy sigh, and I hear the muffled sound of him dropping down onto a couch or a bed. I wish I could do the same. I guess I'll just have to pretend.

"Sitting in Starbucks in the most uncomfortable chair in the world. You?"

"Lying on the couch, watching 'Weeds' on mute."

"Do you want me to call back later when you're not busy?" I offer, hoping that he tells me I'm an idiot and declines.

"Don't be stupid." It's not the "idiot" I was look for, but I'll take it. "I can watch 'Weeds' any time."

"Okay. If you're sure."

"I'm sure." He insists, his tone indicating that he's smiling (and probably rolling his eyes at me again). "Besides, it's still pretty funny on mute."

"Well, I'd rather be there watching TV with you than sitting in an airport, that's for sure."

"Want me to turn the volume on so you can at least listen?"

At this point I'm pretty sure my smile is so wide that people are starting to look at me strangely. "That's okay, I'll survive. I appreciate the thought, though."

"Anytime."

"I'm starving." I whine pathetically, looking around me for any sign of a restaurant that appeals to my appetite.  "I never had breakfast."

"Great, now I'm hungry. Thanks a lot."

"Sorry, I didn't realize it was contagious."

"I wasn't thinking about food before, so I wasn't hungry." He groans wearily as he very likely rolls off of the couch and forces himself into the kitchen, and I hear the sound of bottles gently clinking together when he opens the refrigerator. "Fuck."

"What?"

"There's _never_ any food around here."

"How often to do you go grocery shopping?" I ask, already suspecting that the answer will be something along the lines of "never".

"When the milk has the consistency of cottage cheese."

"Nice."

"I'm a guy! We don't grocery shop, we can't, we're too easily distracted! We go in with the intention of buying toilet paper, and we come out with like... a ten pound ham and a box of Cocoa Puffs."

"Hey, I'm a guy and I consider myself to be an expert grocery shopper."

"That's because you've been domesticated." He points out very frankly. "I bet you even make lists and all that shit."

"Yes, actually." I proudly admit, wishing he could see the unashamed smile on my face right now. "That's how I avoid buying a ten pound ham when it's not Easter."

"Whatever. It's not natural."

"Says the guy who has nothing in his fridge now but sour milk."

"Nuh-uh! The milk is still good. That's why we haven't gone to the store yet."

"Okay, fine, enjoy your milk. I'm sure it'll be _very_ filling."

"I'm sure it will."

"Mmm, all that calcium." I tease, his quiet giggling only spurring me on. "You'll have such big, strong bones!"

"Don't act like you care about my bones when we both _know_ you're only interested in my boner."

If my out of control grin hadn't already gotten people's attention, my sudden outburst of laughter definitely did. I can see several other Starbucks patrols look over at me, their eyebrows raised in surprise and amusement.  I bite my lip, trying to keep myself quiet as I duck my head and wonder whether or not I'm blushing. I don't so much care about people looking at me, I'm used to that. But having conversations about boners in public isn't something I do all that often, and even though no one heard what he said, to me it feels as though _everyone_ knows what we're talking about.

"I can't believe you just said that."

"Yes you can."

He's right, I can. And I love how unapologetic he is, how he doesn't worry about every word the comes out of his mouth. He just says what he thinks, and even if it offends someone, he doesn't try to amend it or qualify it until he's basically retracted the entire statement. Whenever I say what I really think, it's generally by accident. I try to be as diplomatic as possible, but sometimes I slip up and say the exact wrong thing. And then if I try to backtrack and explain what I meant, I usually manage to say something that makes it sound ten times worse. There'll be a voice in my head telling me to shut the hell up, but I just keep talking and talking, hoping to redeem myself while all the while I'm only succeeding in making myself look like a bigger and bigger ass.

"I should've come to the airport with you." He continues flirtatiously. "We could have found ourselves a nice, quiet bathroom stall and finished what we started this morning..."

My blush deepens a little, I can feel my cheeks burning. "Sadly, I think the chances of finding a quiet anything at LAX are slim to none."

"Good point."

As I think back to earlier today, to the two of us on that hotel bed and that insatiable, insanely talented tongue of his, I remember _why_   we didn't get to finish what we started. And I'm pretty sure his mind has wandered to the exact same thing, because the silence on the line has suddenly gone from relaxed to uneasy. I can _feel_ it.

"I should probably go buy some food or something." He sighs finally, and it's exactly what I was hoping he wouldn't say.

Well, okay, not _exactly_. I was just afraid he'd make some excuse to hang up the phone, because I know he's only going to sit there with Ike's venomous words playing in his head on repeat. I don't want him to dwell on it, even if I know that it's completely useless for me to try to prevent him from doing so.

But even if trying is useless, that's not going to stop me.

"Don't forget to make a grocery list."

"Never gonna happen." He retorts defiantly, and unless I'm very much mistaken, he's smiling again. Maybe not the way he was before, but I can still hear a hint of it in his voice.

"You better save me some ham, then."

"Will do."

I don't want to say goodbye, but one of us has to. Eventually. "I'll call you again tonight, okay?"

"Okay."

"Have fun shopping." That probably doesn't count as a goodbye either, does it? I'm so bad at this.

"Have fun... flying."

With a faint smile, I take a deep, resigned breath and force myself to just _say_ it. "Bye, Tommy."

"Bye."

The line is silent but I can tell he hasn't pressed the 'end call' button, and I _know_ I haven't. It brings to mind the thought of a very sappy round of "you hang up", "no _you_ hang up".

"I know you're still there."

He laughs, which was precisely the reaction I was aiming for. "Shut up."

"Well you are!"

"So are you!" He insists playfully as his amusement gradually subsides into quiet chuckles.

"Okay, how about we both hang up on the count of three?"

"This is so fucking pathetic..."

It is. And it feels amazing. "Hang up then."

"Why do _I_ have to hang up?"

"Because you're the one who thinks it's pathetic."

"Because it _is_ pathetic!" He declares adamantly. "It's pathetic, and girly, and completely fucking embarrassing."

"So hang up!"

"No, _you_ hang up!"

"Ha! You said it first!"

There's a moment of silence, and I'm sure he's replaying what he can remember of this little exchange, trying to prove to himself and to me that he wasn't the first to say those famous words. But he can't.

"Shit."

"It's okay, I won't tell anyone." I taunt him smugly, imagining the petulant scowl that I'm sure is on that absurdly pretty face of his right now. "As long as you hang up first."

"Gladly!"

I wait for the sound of the call ending, but it never comes. I'm honestly kind of shocked; I thought that after all of that mocking he'd hang up on me for sure! "Still there, huh?"

"No."

"So I'm talking to myself right now?"

"Sounds like something you'd do." He shoots back in his most scathing tone. And yet somehow it's still making me grin. "Okay, I'm really going this time."

"Okay."

"No, seriously, this is me hanging up on you."

"I can hardly contain my excitement."

" _Goodbye_ , Taylor."

He's trying so hard to sound ticked off, but I can tell that he's also fighting back a smile because he doesn't want me to hear it in his voice. I guess I can let him hold on to that last little shred of dignity.

"Bye!"

It's funny how one short phone call has the power to completely transform your mood. Though I guess it's more about the person you're talking to than the actual phone call itself. I could have called a dozen other people just now and I probably wouldn't have been left sitting here with this ridiculously wide smile on my face afterward. But talking to Tommy tends to have that affect on me. Besides, flirting with him and hearing him laugh is a much better memory to be left with before I have to get on a plane and leave him behind. Our goodbye in the car this morning wasn't exactly the happiest of moments, and this phone call was a definite improvement. It's comforting to know that, in spite of the fact nothing has actually changed since our last conversation, he at least feels a little better. Which automatically makes _me_ feel a little better.

Until I get to the gate that our flight is leaving from and find that the only member of my "entourage" present is Zac. I feel like such a coward as I desperately scan the faces of the other people sitting and standing around nearby, hoping against hope that I'll spot Muff or Bex... hell, I'd even be glad to see Ike right now! But they're nowhere to be seen. It's just the two of us for the first time since I threatened him with eternal silence at Fools Banquet. Somehow we've managed to avoid ever being alone together at any point over the last month and a half. If we were in the studio and Ike left, one of us would always leave at the same time. If I got to the studio early and saw Zac's car parked outside but not Ike's, I would wait in my car until Ike got there. And I'm confident that Zac always did the same thing, because he never came into the studio unless he was with Ike or Ike was already present.

I know, it's childish.

But I don't think we know _how_ to be around each other anymore unless it's as a band. We don't know how to be brothers, because being nothing but brothers isn't something we've ever been before. There's always been something else, whether it's friendship, love, sex... now there's nothing.

One of us has to break the ice between us sooner or later, though. And since I believe that the majority of the blame for all of this lies with me, I think it's my responsibility. So, pushing aside the very appealing urge I have to turn around and walk into the nearest gift shop and hide, I put one foot in front of the other and walk over to him. He's got his earbuds in and his eyes closed, enjoying a moment of relaxation before the craziness of another promo tour truly begins. I don't say anything to him, because I doubt he'd hear me, I simply take a seat next to him and dig my own iPod and headphones out of my bag. I know this doesn't really count as interacting with him, but... I'm working up to that.

Unfortunately,  before I can put my earbuds in and hit shuffle on my iPod, Zac opens his eyes and notices me sitting here. And the look on his face makes it clear that he feels as weird about it as I do.

"Where's Bex?" He asks, apprehensively pulling his earbuds out and glancing around us.

"Last time I saw her she was heading off to pick out some in-flight reading material. Where's Muff?"

He heaves a tired, disinterested sigh. "I don't know. He wandered off when we couldn't find a decent place to set up the projector."

"Right..." God, this is awkward. "Have you seen Ike?"

"Not since we got through security. I'm guessing he's propping up the bar wherever they serve semi-decent whiskey." I'd be willing to bet money that he's precisely right about that. Our big brother is a creature of habit, and whenever he's in a bad mood he likes to drown his sorrows in some good, strong liquor. "What's his disaster du jour anyway? It's like he took an extra dose of pissy pills this morning or something."

Despite the fact that it shouldn't be funny, because I know exactly what's wrong with Ike and there's nothing amusing about it, I find myself smiling anyway. That was a very Zac thing to say, and it hasn't felt as though he's been himself around me like this for so long now. I've missed it.

I've missed him.

"It's... nothing." I lie, trying my hardest to feign indifference. "We just had a fight, that's all."

"Well, on behalf of the rest of humanity, thanks _so_ much."

"Anytime."

"What was the fight about?" He asks curiously. "It must've been pretty bad to make him shun us all."

Of course the friendly banter couldn't last, we couldn't just mock Ike's melodramatic nature a little longer. Now I either have to lie to Zac or make him hate me. Again. Oh, the agony of choice...

"I just... I did something he didn't agree with and now he's not speaking to me." I hedge uncomfortably, literally squirming in my seat under the weight of the tension that's very quickly descending on us.

I can feel him watching me, studying me, trying to figure out what it is I'm not saying. No amount of pretending to be engrossed in my playlists is going to help me escape...

And then it happens.

"Oh." I know better than to look at him, but I do it anyway. It's like a car wreck; you don't wanna look, but you can't seem to stop yourself from at least glancing at it. "It wasn't so much what you did as _who_ you did, huh?"

How am I supposed to respond to that? Even just ignoring the actual words for a second, his tone is entirely indecipherable. I expected him to be bitter and angry, to revert to the same petty, immature behavior he's been displaying since the night this all started, when I confessed to kissing Tommy at that bar. But he sounds almost... calm. Like maybe on some level he was expecting this.

"Guess I didn't give the guy enough credit."

"What do you mean?" I ask apprehensively, afraid that he might be baiting me, drawing me into an argument that I definitely don't want to have. _Especially_ not here.

He shrugs one shoulder, keeping his eyes trained on his own iPod as he idly winds the headphone wire around his index finger. "I figured he was gone for good after Fools Banquet. I didn't think he'd be able to handle... everything."

Neither did I.

We sit together silently, because there's really nothing more to say. I'm cautiously optimistic that maybe, just _maybe_ , something has changed here. Maybe he's reached the point that I reached months ago; maybe he's ready to put what we had behind us. Maybe he's _finally_ ready to let it all go and move on... start over.

Eventually he simply puts the ear buds back in his ears and returns to the music induced trance I found him in. And as I carefully place my own ear buds into my ears and let the music wash over me, I have real hope for the first time in a _long_ time that we're going to be okay.

I haven't lost my little brother completely.

 

 


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters are a little lighter and may seem kind of "pointless", but they do serve their own little purpose to the plot, I promise. Besides, I owed the boys some fluff.

  


  


 

 

_ A Plane Somewhere Over Nevada - April 25th, 2011 _

 

This past month has gone by much too quickly. It always does when we're out on the road, whether we're living off of a tour bus or flying between cities every other day. The more you move around, the faster the time passes. We're on our way to our last stop on the promo tour, and then in a couple of days we're headed back to Tulsa until June.

And I'm dreading it.

Don't get me wrong, I _cannot_ wait to see my kids again. We Skype all the time, but it's not the same as being with them, seeing their smiles first hand, having their arms around me, being surrounded by the scent of their bubble gum bubble bath and that chocolate chip cookie aroma that seems to accompany them everywhere, even when they haven't eaten any. And I'm looking forward to tour rehearsals, too. Hanging out in our rehearsal space with Will and De, playing music all day, every day... there's _nothing_ wrong with that. Especially now that things between Zac and I are gradually starting to improve. We still have our awkward moments, usually when we're alone together for more than ten minutes at a time. But at least we _can_ be alone together now. For the most part we can talk and joke with one another like everything is fine, because technically... everything _is_ fine. Possibly for the first time in thirteen years!

Ike and I, on the other hand, aren't doing so great. We've been maintaining a very civil working relationship for the past four weeks, but we tend to keep our distance whenever we're done with whatever interview or performance we just fake-niced our way through. He doesn't want to deal with me, and honestly the feeling is pretty mutual. I'm still pissed at him for what he said to Tommy, regardless of whether it was true or not. I want him to admit that he shouldn't have said it, but that's never going to happen, so I guess I'm just going to have to ignore him for all eternity.

Works for me.

The reason I'm dreading going home, though, is Natalie. And it's not because I don't want to deal with her pouting and sulking over the whole Alex thing. Apparently she got over that at some point during this month, and now she's back to being the same, sweet, doting wife and mother she was before. I actually think I preferred her slamming doors in my face. Somehow, it was much easier to be a unfaithful asshole when she was treating me like one.

I know, I'm a terrible person.

And, of course, we'll be getting home right as she starts ovulating. And since I wasn't around to do my husbandly duty and impregnate her last month, I'm probably going to be expected to work twice as hard at doing so this month.

I'm going to be so dehydrated...

"I hate it when we get booked on one of these dumbass backwards routes." Zac mutters beside me, staring glumly out of the airplane window. "I wanna _be_ there already. Why couldn't we just get a direct flight from Salt Lake to New York? Why'd we have to go via Los Angeles? It's in the opposite direction!"

I smirk as he finishes his rant by dramatically slumping in his seat like a surly adolescent. "Don't ask me. I'm just here for the snacks."

"Oh, don't _even_ get me started on those. There weren't enough pretzels in that bag to satisfy a freakin' hamster!" He complains indignantly, practically glaring at the crumpled pretzel bag stuffed into the seat pocket in front of him. " _And_ they spent for _ever_ taxiing around the runway like we were on a damn scenic tour of the airport or something, so now we're gonna have to bust our asses to make our connection at LAX. They're gonna be boarding our next flight before we even get off of this one! And what's with this 'see agent' bullshit on our boarding passes? We don't even have seat assignments for the next flight yet!"

"Dude, chill out! You're acting like this kind of thing doesn't happen _every_ time we travel. It'll be fine, we've made it to the gate in less time before."

"Yes, but I don't like running." His lower lips pops out petulantly from beneath its counterpart. "It makes me look unkempt."

"You always look unkempt anyway." I snort, rolling my eyes as he carefully smoothes some wrinkles from his t-shirt.

"You're one to talk!" He accuses teasingly, carelessly running his fingers through his hair a few times until it's sticking out all over the place and looks ridiculous. "Hi! I'm Taylor Hanson! I like to over-accessorize, and my hair is _cray-zay_!"

"Hey, don't mock the accessories!"

"It's hard not to when there are _so many_." He informs me as he flips his hair back into place like something out of a L'Oréal commercial.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to begin our descent into Los Angeles. At this time the Captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign, and we ask that you please stay in your seats for the remainder of the flight_."

"Crap. I need to pee..." Zac declares, just as he does at this point in _every_ flight I've ever taken with him.

I tune out the rest of the flight attendant's announcement; it's not like I haven't heard it all a billion times before. I don't need to be told to make sure that my tray table is stowed, or that I need to switch off my portable electronics. I hardly even need to think twice before throwing my trash into the garbage bag as one of the flight attendants backs down the aisle and impatiently rustles it in my general direction.

But when we fly over a city that I'm pretty sure is Burbank, I quickly perk up. It's _so_ stupid, like I'm hoping that if I peer out of the window with sufficient determination I might be able to _see_ Tommy. I guess any tiny glimpse of him would be enough for me at this point; I haven't seen him in over a month and I still don't know when I will again.

Once the plane has landed and pulled up to gate fourteen, we grab our carry-on as quickly as we can and make a mad dash for gate two. Which, of course, is at the opposite fucking end of the terminal, because whenever we're late there always, _always_ has to be something to make us even later. Usually it's us making ourselves late, though. We live in our own time zone.

Thankfully we get to the gate while they're still in the process of boarding, and we hurry over to the desk agent to get our seat assignments for the flight.

"Our flight to New York this afternoon _is_ overbooked and we are currently looking for passengers who would be willing to give up their seats in exchange for a two hundred dollar travel voucher." She tells us in the most fake cheerful tone I've heard in a long time. It doesn't help that she's not even trying to smile. "We will, of course, have you reassigned to the next available flight."

"No, thanks." Ike answers immediately. "We need to be on this one."

I'm just about to let her go back to printing up our new boarding passes when I realize the opportunity I'd be giving up by getting on this plane right now. I don't need to be in New York tonight; we don't have anything planned until tomorrow morning. As long as I can still get to New York early enough, I don't have to leave L.A. _yet_.

"Wait a second... when's the next available flight?"

"Taylor, what the hell?"

"Let's see... there's another flight to New York in two hours."

"Is there anything later than that?"

She frowns at me uncertainly, clearly not at all used to passengers asking for _longer_ layovers. "Um..."

"I can't believe you're doing this." Ike mutters, shaking his head at me incredulously. "You're so fucking irresponsible, I swear."

"We have an eight-fifteen flight, if that would work better?" The desk agent offers with a feeble shrug.

Four hours is better than two hours, but it's not exactly what I was hoping for. "What's the latest flight out tonight that would still get me to New York by eight am tomorrow?"

With a deep (and noticeably irritated breath), she hastily types away on her keyboard for a few seconds before looking up at me again. "Our last flight to New York tonight is at eleven-forty five."

"Are there seats available?"

"Yes."

"Perfect!"

"And will this be for you or for your entire party?"

"Just him. _Definitely_." Ike replies on my behalf before I can even open my mouth, and then he turns to me angrily, practically jabbing me in the chest when he points a condemning finger at me. "If you screw up and miss that radio interview tomorrow morning, I'm gonna _kill_ you."

With that, he snatches his boarding pass out of the desk agent's outstretched hand, picks up his carry-on, and stalks off towards the boarding ramp. Muff and Bex look completely bewildered, and I don't blame them at all. As far as I know, neither of them have any clue why I just volunteered to stay in Los Angeles for an extra seven hours when I could have gotten on a plane with them right now and been in New York by midnight. But they don't ask questions, they simply tell me they'll see me tomorrow and then follow in Ike's footsteps.

"You're seriously not coming with us?" Zac questions, distractedly accepting his own boarding pass, his eyes never leaving my face for more than a second. "You're gonna stay here?"

"Yeah, I am." I sigh, waiting for him to give me a disgusted look similar to the one Ike left me with. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"Hey," He shrugs faintly, his lips twitching into a hint of a half-smile before he takes a step backwards. "As long as you make it to New York on time, it's none of my business."

That comment could have easily been sarcastic and scathing, but it's not. It's entirely sincere. And the look in his eyes as we share one last glance before he disappears down the boarding ramp isn't disapproving, either. It's just a little sad, full of nostalgia with subtle hints of regret mixed in.

And in some strange way, all that adds up to is acceptance.

For a moment, I just stand at the almost empty gate and watch the last few straggling passengers board the plane. I don't think it's quite sunk in that I'm _here_ , and that I don't have to leave any minute now. I just made a very spontaneous decision to miss my flight and put my responsibilities on hold in order to be with the person I love. I've never done that before. I've never had to. I've never _wanted_ to.

As soon as it truly hits me that every second I spend standing in a daze in this terminal is one less second I'll get to spend with him, I'm _running_ towards the exit, dodging tired travelers and bored business men as I make a beeline for the automatic doors that will take me out to the rental car shuttles. Since I haven't booked a car, I don't have to wait for a particular bus to arrive to take me to a specific car lot, and I jump right on the first one that comes along. But then I have nothing to do with my sudden surge of energy besides sit here for five minutes and tap my foot on the bus floor in what I'm sure the other riders think is an incredibly annoying display of impatience.

So I decide to take my mind off of things by calling Tommy.

He answers after only a couple of rings, which is a good sign because I know from experience that it means he's not too busy. "Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing, just... on the road." I tell him, smiling because I didn't have to tell him what I'm doing, and yet I didn't have to lie to him, either. That's a good thing, since I've sworn to myself that I'll never lie to him again. "What're you up to."

He groans unenthusiastically, clearly not enjoying whatever it is he's currently preoccupied with. "Well, I _was_ just hanging out and practicing some Ravi songs. Now I'm doing laundry and packing."

 _Shit_... "Packing? For what?"

"I'm flying out to Washington with Monte for one of those Kickstarter shows tomorrow."

I breathe a sigh of relief, quickly attempting to conceal it with a soft chuckle. "Right, sorry, I guess I've been so focused on my travel plans that I totally spaced on yours."

"It's okay. I seriously don't expect you to remember that stuff anyway. _I_ barely remember it most of the time. I'm pretty sure that if he hadn't called me about it an hour ago, I would've forgotten to pack until he showed up to get me on his way to the airport."

"So packing is your big plan for the evening, huh?"

"Nah, I should be done soon. Then I fully intend to sit on my ass with a beer and watch TV."

"Sounds like an exciting night."

" _Oh_ yeah. I can hardly wait." He drones, making me even more excited about my impromptu little visit. I never even stopped to consider that he might have plans with his friends or his family, I was too busy being impulsive. But since he has no such plans, and it sounds like he wasn't looking forward to spending the evening alone, I don't have to feel bad for dropping in unannounced. "So where are you headed now?"

"Uh... well, right now I'm in L.A., waiting on a flight." Still not lying! "Next up is New York for a few days."

"Shame it's not the other way around. Maybe you could have found time for me in your busy, rock star schedule."

"Probably not." I tease, playing along with his over-dramatic, 'poor me' tone. "I'm a _very_ important person with _very_ important things to do."

"True."

The shuttle pulls up outside the Enterprise rental office, and I quickly get out of my seat and grab my bags. "Speaking of which, I have to go."

"Okay." He sighs grudgingly, the way we both do whenever we're forced to end a phone call or webcam chat. "Have a safe trip to New York."

"Thanks. I'll probably see... er, talk to you before your flight tomorrow, but in case I don't, I hope you have a good trip."

"Thanks."

"Bye!"

"Bye."

I'm sure I sounded much too cheerful and upbeat during that goodbye, I bet he thinks I don't give a crap that we only got to talk for all of five minutes today. But hopefully when I show up on his doorstep in less than an hour, he'll understand why I was in such a good mood, and he'll forgive my over-enthusiastic farewell.

The line at the counter isn't as bad as I expected, but since I'm working against the clock here, I'm ten times more intolerant  of the wait than I usually would be. When I _finally_ get to talk to a rental agent, I rush them through their whole spiel as fast as possible and tell them that I don't care what kind of car they give me as long as it's gassed up and ready to go _now_. Luckily, the girl behind the counter seems to find my haste more amusing than annoying, and ten minutes later she's handing me the keys to a shiny new Corolla and I'm on my way out of the lot.

I figure that it'll be just after five by the time I get to his apartment, and I won't have to be back at the airport until  ten thirty. Which means I can stay with Tommy until ten, which means we'll get almost five whole hours together.

It's not much, but it's a _hell_ of a lot better than nothing.

The traffic out to Burbank pretty much sucks, and I feel like an idiot for not factoring in rush hour traffic. But eventually I manage to find a radio station that doesn't make me want to swerve the car into the path of a speeding semi truck, and with the windows down and some decent music blaring, the drive passes a little bit faster (though still not fast enough). I pull over outside of Tommy's building by five-thirty, and my stomach fills with anxious and excited butterflies the second I step out of the car and begin making my way over to his door. I can't help second guessing myself a little; it's how I live my life. Logically I _know_ he'll be happy to see me... there's still that nagging self-doubt telling me that I'm imposing, though.

But the look on his face when he opens the door and sees me standing here erases those worries in a heartbeat.

"What the _fuck_?!" He laughs, wearing a smile wider than any I think I've seen on him before. "What's going on?"

"Our flight was overbooked." I shrug as though it's no big deal. "I was feeling charitable, so I offered to give up my seat and take a later flight."

"How much later?"

"I have to be back at LAX by ten-thirty."

He reaches out and takes my wrist, turning my watch to face him so that he can see the time and figure out how long we have together. "I can work with that."

"Good." I grin back at him, taking his hand and tugging him closer before pecking him lightly on the lips. "Because there's something I've been wanting to do with you for a while now."

"Oh?"

With one more kiss, I pull him over the threshold and out of his apartment, chuckling softly at the perplexed look that's suddenly appeared on his face. "I'm taking you grocery shopping."

"Seriously?" He laughs out loud, closing the door behind him and allowing me to lead him away towards my rental car. "Of all the things you can think of to do with the _very_ limited amount of time we have together, you wanna go fucking grocery shopping?!"

"Someone has to show you how it's done." I taunt him, flashing a playful smirk at him as he finally falls into step beside me. "Besides, I'm willing to bet you have next to nothing in your fridge right now."

"Maybe I like it that way."

"Maybe you do. But I can't cook you dinner if there's nothing edible in your apartment."

That leaves him speechless, and he stares at me as though he can't quite decide whether I'm joking or not. "You wanna make me dinner?"

"Yes." I reply simply with a sole nod for emphasis. "More than anything."

"More than _anything_?"

The man makes a good point. "Okay, not more than _anything_. But more than everything except _that_."

"So why can't we do _that_ first?" He whines pathetically, though he still willingly gets into the passenger side of the car despite his verbal protests.

"Because once you get me into bed, I'm not getting out again until I absolutely _have_ to. And I want to make you dinner, so that has to happen first otherwise it won't happen at all."

He huffs an overly-dramatic sigh, but I can see that he's fighting back a smile. "Fine."

"So what do you want to eat?" I ask as I start the engine and pull the car back out onto the street. I don't actually know here I'm going because I have no clue where the nearest grocery store is, but I figure I'll find one eventually. Now that he's here with me, I'm not in any particular rush to be anywhere. This was this important part, the rest just doesn't matter.

"Uh... I don't know." He chuckles softly. "I'd kinda just resigned myself to popcorn and beer for dinner."

"Well at least I _know_ I can make you something better than that."

"Oh yeah? So what's your 'specialty'?"

"I don't know that I really have one. I mean, I'm pretty good with Italian food, I guess. And I have a certain flare with a grill."

"I'll have to see that someday." He notes flirtatiously, which makes my whole body feel a little warmer than it did five seconds ago. "Italian sounds good, though. I haven't had pasta in forever."

"What's your favorite Italian dish?"

"Um..." I glance over at him as he tilts his head from side to side for a few seconds in an adorable display of contemplation. "Lasagna, I guess? But that'll probably take way too long to make, right?"

"It takes long _er_ , but not _too_ long. Plus it has a nice, slow baking time after you prep it..."

He grins again, cocking an eyebrow at me. "I thought you said you wouldn't be getting out of bed once I got you in it?"

"I'd be willing to make a brief exception to bring you food."

"Wow. You're _definitely_ a keeper!"

For some odd reason that statement makes me blush a little, and in an effort to distract him from my reddening cheeks, I try to focus his attention on something else. "Have you got your phone with you?"

"Yeah, why?" He frowns as he pulls it out of the pocket of his black jeans.

"Because I need you to write a shopping list."

"I can't believe you're making me do this, it's like we're fucking married or something." He mumbles while he presses a few icons on the screen and eventually pulls up a blank note. "Ready when you are, schnookums."

I manage not to dignify his "schnookums" comment with more than a flicker of a smirk before slowly listing off to him all of the various items we'll need to make dinner. Hopefully I remembered them all; I basically had to make the lasagna in my head to recall which ingredients went into it, but I think I got all of the essentials at least. And once we're done with the list, and he realizes that we're basically just driving around aimlessly, he directs me to the nearest Fresh & Easy (which I can't let slide without making a crack about how fitting I find it that he shops there).

He grabs us a cart from just outside the entrance, and I walk along beside him as he balances precariously on the back of it and uses one foot to propel it forward like some kind of oversize scooter. He tells me it's the only thing he actually likes about grocery stores, which makes me feel like I'm shopping with a teenager.

I kinda completely love it.

"So where to first, shmoo-shmoo?" He asks proudly, flashing me a teasing grin as I try to scowl at him in disapproval.

"If you don't stop with the ridiculous pet names, you're gonna have to ride that cart home because I'm gonna leave you here." I manage to keep up the act for all of two seconds. Then he starts pouting at me, and I'm a lost cause. "Fine, call me whatever you want."

"I was going to anyway."

"I hate you."

"No you don't." He beams, giving the shopping cart another boost forward with his foot as I watch him venture off ahead of me into the produce section.

He nearly mows down an elderly woman by accident, and even from way over here I can tell that she's annoyed at him and thinks he's just some inconsiderate asshole "kid" with nothing better to do. She sees the tattoos, and the hair, and the piercings, and she pegs him as something he's not. I'm about to hurry over and intervene, because I tend to come across as more "family friendly" and I figure that might be beneficial in this particular situation. But before I can so much as take a step forward Tommy stops the cart, gets off, and helps her pick up the bag of apples she just dropped all over the floor when he came out of nowhere and almost gave her a heart attack. She still seems a little annoyed with him at first, but by the time he's done apologizing and putting the apples in her cart for her, she's _thanking_ him.

And all I can do is stand here and smile as I watch him get right back on his cart and ride off again.

I wonder if he'll ever stop surprising me.

 

 

 


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Hanson Day (yes, they have their own day!), here's another fluffy chapter. Those of you who wanted some sexy time, hopefully this isn't too much of a let down. :p
> 
> Happy Hanson Day!

  


 

 

Our little grocery store excursion takes almost an hour, which is longer than I'd anticipated, but it's also the most fun I think I've ever had while shopping. He wasn't kidding when he told me that he's easily distracted and ends up getting things that he doesn't even need and didn't go into the store looking to buy. It feels like every three feet he notices something on the shelves that he needs to pick up and look at, it's as though he's never been to a grocery store before! And aside from the ingredients to make our dinner, I also find a bag of Ketchup flavored potato chips (no, I'm not kidding), a jar of 'Lemonaise' (that's lemon flavored mayonnaise, in case you were wondering), and a toothpaste dispenser in the cart when we go to checkout. How he snuck those little gems by me, I don't know. Actually, it was probably because I was too busy staring at him to actually notice what he was doing. Apparently he has no idea if the chips or the 'Lemonaise' are any good, but he intends to find out first hand. And the toothpaste dispenser "just looked cool".

How can you argue with reasons like those?

We head back to his place, where he introduces me to Mike (again, just in case we'd forgotten each other), and then he helps me unpack our purchases. I say 'helps', he takes two things out of one of the bags and then finds his potato chips and loses _all_ interest in everything else around him. It's kind of completely adorable. He hoists himself onto the kitchen counter with the bag of chips between his teeth, and then perches there contentedly while I finish emptying the rest of the bags and situating everything on the countertop beside him.

"You want me to help?" He offers genuinely as he tears the bag open.

"No, it's okay. I've got it covered." I smirk at him, opening and closing cupboard doors as I look for a few pots and pans and some form of dish to cook the lasagna in. "Try not to fill up on junk before I'm done, though."

"I won't, I promise."

Once I've finally found everything I need to start cooking, I get to work boiling the lasagna noodles while I mince the garlic and dice the onion. I don't even think twice before grabbing a teaspoon out of a nearby draw and sticking it in my mouth while I slice it up, but Tommy looks at me like I've totally lost my mind.

"It helps." I explain around the piece of metal, my tongue trying to keep it pressed to the roof of my mouth as I talk. "Keeps your eyes from watering."

"Bullshit!" He laughs.

"You try it!"

He rolls his eyes and hops down from the counter top to take the knife from my hand. I was expecting him to get a spoon of his own, but he pulls mine out of my mouth and immediately slips it past his lips. I watch him cut the onions up, his movements a little slower and less confident than mine, and after thirty seconds or so he looks up at me with a stunned expression on his face.

"Holy fuck, it seriously works!"

"See?" I grin triumphantly, tugging the spoon out of his mouth. "Don't question my methods next time."

"Never again, pookie."

With a playful scowl I take back my knife and go back to dicing the onion while he returns to his previous position sitting on the countertop. After sautéing the onion and garlic in large skillet I add the ground chicken, and Tommy watches in quiet concentration as I quickly brown it. Usually I use beef, but he told me he's not big on red meat, so I figured chicken would work just as well. It's still so weird for me to hear someone say "I don't really like beef"; growing up in the midwest, beef was pretty much a dinnertime staple. You either liked it or you were a vegetarian. To be honest, it's not my number one choice, either. I love a good steak, and I can inhale a bacon cheeseburger every now and again, but there's a whole world of other animals out there, and a lot of them taste better than cows.

I know that sounds bad, but it's true!

And it's one of the things I like about the West Coast. And the East Coast. Pretty much anywhere that's not the middle of the country, really. There's so much more diversity. At least, that's how it feels to me. The closer you get to the 'edges', the more cultures and different kinds of cuisine you're likely to find. And since I consider myself to be something of a 'foody', that's a pretty big draw for me. Don't get me wrong, there are restaurants in Tulsa that I love, but sometimes I honestly feel like I've tried them _all_. I want something new, and there's always something new to try in L.A. and New York. There's no guarantee that it'll actually be any good, but at least you won't get bored.

"This is so fucking weird." He suddenly blurts out, laughing to himself as he continues to stare at the chicken sizzling in the skillet.

"What is?"

"This." He looks up at me, meeting my curious gaze and shaking his head faintly in disbelief. "I mean... you're _here_. You're actually standing in my kitchen, making me lasagna. You don't think that's weird?"

It _is_ weird, but I don't want it to be. I want this to be the norm for us. I want it to be so completely routine that we don't even think about it. I want to make him dinner every evening, and I want him to sit on the kitchen counter while I do it, and eat gross potato chips exactly like he's doing right now, and I want to tell him to put them away before he ruins his appetite. I want to go grocery shopping with him every week, and I want to find a bunch of totally random and unnecessary crap in the cart every time we get to the check out. I want to go to bed with him, and wake up with him, and eat breakfast with him, and take insanely long showers with him, and listen to him practice guitar in the living room, and watch movies all afternoon with him on his unmade bed. _Our_ unmade bed.

I want my _life_ to be with him. Every single day.

But instead of telling _him_ all of that, I simply say "It's a little weird, I guess."

"It's probably less weird for you because you knew it was gonna happen. I think I'm still in shock or something."

"I didn't know I was coming here _that_ much sooner than you did." I argue, idly stirring the ingredients in the skillet. "I literally made the decision about an hour before I showed up."

"You know what I just realized?"

"What?"

" _Every_ time you've come out here, you haven't bothered to tell me first. You've just appeared out of the blue." I hadn't even given it that much thought before, but now that he's brought it up... he's right. I never give him any advanced warning. "What's that about?"

"All part of my irresistible charm?" I retort hopefully, offering him the most innocent smile I can manage. "Plus, if I don't tell you ahead of time, you don't have chance to hide."

I'm not quick enough to dodge the playful slap he administers to my arm, and by trying to dodge it, I end up flipping some chicken onto the floor.

"Now look what you did!"

"You were asking for it."

"And the poor, unsuspecting chicken?"

He shrugs unconcernedly and pops another potato chip into his mouth. "Wrong place, wrong time."

Before I can retaliate we're interrupted by Mike, which is probably for the best since my grand plan to get Tommy back consisted of flinging half-cooked, ground chicken at him. Not my most inspired idea, I'll admit.

"Hey, I'm headin' out." He tells us with a somewhat knowing smile. "Don't wait up."

"Okay. Want me to save you some lasagna?" Offers Tommy gratefully. "Or some chips? They're Ketchup flavored!"

Mike wrinkles his nose in disgust, which makes me feel entirely vindicated. "I'll definitely pass on the chips. But if there's any lasagna left over, I won't say no..."

"You got it."

"Later!"

We call out our goodbyes to him as he disappears from the kitchen, and it's as though we're both holding our breath until we hear the sound of the front door closing behind him. Then Tommy turns to me once again, a wicked grin on those incredible lips of his.

"I _love_ having a roommate who can take a hint without me even having to give it."

For the next forty minutes or so, Tommy bounces (not literally, although sometimes it feels like it) back and forth between being incredibly helpful to the cooking process and doing his best to be the most devilish distraction on the planet. I don't know _how_ I manage to resist his attempts to take my pants off in the middle of the kitchen until the lasagna is in the oven, but somehow I summon the self-restraint to make us both wait. Eventually he gives up on trying to seduce me before I can finish layering the chicken, spinach, and cheese, and he sits _somewhat_ patiently on the counter. He watches my every move carefully, like he's committing all of it to memory, but I can tell from the childlike and fidgety way that he's swinging his legs from side to side that his mind is probably still more preoccupied with other things.

"So that's how you make a lasagna, huh?" He says as I finally place the baking dish onto the oven rack and close the door. "Seems kind of time consuming to me."

"Because it is."I chuckle softly, wiping my hands on a nearby dish towel. "But it's worth it."

"Know what else is time consuming but worth it?"

I could take a guess. "What?"

"Me."

He grabs me by the front of my t-shirt and tugs me closer demandingly, until I'm stood snugly between his legs and can easily wrap my arms around him. "I just realized I never said 'hi' earlier."

"Rude." He smirks playfully, his mouth drawing ever nearer to mine.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"I never did this, either..." I murmur against his lips before covering them with my own, truly kissing him for the first time since I got here two hours ago.

And the moment his tongue grazes mine, I forget why the hell I was so set on all of this grocery-shopping, lasagna-making, time-wasting when I could have been doing _this_ instead! I guess I had that little domestic fantasy stuck in my head, the two of us doing normal, everyday, coupley crap that we _never_ get to do together, and I wanted to make it a reality. And now that I've successfully made one fantasy a reality, it's time to move on to another.

He moans softly as I edge my fingers into the back pockets of his jeans, pulling his body to mine. His hands eagerly tangle in my hair as he deepens the kiss further, practically wrapping his legs around my waist and bucking against me. I had intended to take this slowly and make the most of it, but I really don't see that resolve lasting very long.

Maybe next time.

I pull his t-shirt up and over his head in one fast, fluid motion, carelessly casting it aside onto the kitchen floor. His attempts to take my shirt off basically consist of thoughtlessly yanking on it in hopes that it'll just fall to pieces or something.  I don't see how else he thinks it's ever going to come off, given the directions he's pulling it in. In an effort to help him, I take the hem in my own hands and lift it over my head, and the moment it's gone his lips are on my chest and his fingertips are digging into the skin of my back so possessively that I can't help wondering if they'll leave marks. I hope they do, and I hope they never fade. Like little tattoos across my flesh, mapping out everywhere he's been.

Without stopping to consider the many possible ways my next move might go wrong, I scoop him off of the countertop and into my arms. He giggles against my lips but doesn't stop kissing me as we sway backwards unsteadily and inevitably stagger into the refrigerator. I have two options here, the kitchen table or the kitchen floor... and I need to pick one fast before we topple over completely. Even though the table looks appealing, the floor has always been the location of choice in this fantasy of mine, so that's where we end up.

His fingers clumsily fumble with the button on my jeans as he groans through our kisses, his back arching off of the floor in an eager effort to keep his body as close to mine as he can. I don't particularly want to stop touching him for the length of time that it would take to wriggle out of my pants and underwear and help him remove his, but if ten seconds of distance now means we'll be even closer in the end, it's ten seconds very well spent.

My mouth is back on his skin again as soon as it possibly can be, my lips indiscriminately raining kisses across his chest and stomach, my teeth nipping at his inner thigh before my tongue traces the faint protrusion of his hipbone. He's whining shamelessly, writhing impatiently beneath me as his fingers helplessly grasp handfuls of my hair and claw at my shoulder blades in desperation. My first instinct, as always, it to give him anything and everything he wants, but I'd be lying if I said that the idea of teasing him a little longer isn't just as tempting.

It's _such_ a turn on to have this much sway over him.

I know that he feels this good because of me, but I'm acutely aware that he could feel even better if I just touch him or kiss him in a certain place or in a certain way. I have the power to drive him completely crazy, to have him crying out my name and _begging_ me not to stop doing exactly what I'm doing. And at the same time, simply by pleading with me like that, he has the exact same kind of power over me. He drives me just as wild. It's like an ever-escalating, unstoppable swell of unrestrained pleasure. A wave of arousal that builds and builds.

We feed off of each other until there's nothing left, until we can't take any more.

For a while, I'm so consumed by what I'm doing to him, so lost in the noises he's making and the sheer heat surrounding us, that I don't realize that his attention is split between me and something else. But when I happen to look up at him, I see that he's struggling to reach for his jeans.

"If you think you're getting dressed right now, think again." I warn him playfully, earning an eye roll in response.

He rolls over a little, just enough that he can finally pull his pants towards him, and a few seconds later he victoriously produces a small tube of K-Y.

"You carry that around with you everywhere just in case?"

"No." He chuckles breathlessly, giving my arm a lighthearted nudge with his knee. "I got it at the store earlier."

"When?! I never saw it when we checked out."

With a mischievous smirk on his lips, he shrugs and innocently explains that I "wasn't paying enough attention."

He's definitely got my attention now, though, that's for sure.

My eyes follow every move of his hands as his thumb effortlessly flips the cap open and he squeezes a generous amount of the translucent jelly onto his fingers. Somehow, it doesn't seem to occur to me that he's about to wrap them around my erection until he actually _does_ it, and I gasp suddenly as my hips instinctively thrust into his hand. He drops the tube onto the floor beside us, placing his free hand against my chest and pushing me back as he continues to stroke me slowly. I don't even try to protest or resist as he forces me down onto the floor and crawls on top of me, devoting the same attention to my body as I did to his only moments ago.

My breath catches in my throat when he straddles my hips and carefully lowers his body onto mine, not only because of the overwhelming rush of sensations that I experience, but because watching him do this is literally _breathtaking_. I can't put into words the expression on his face, the way he moves, the sound he makes... it so _beyond_ beautiful.

" _Fuck_ , I missed this..." He gasps softly, his slender fingers splaying out across my chest as he begins to move slowly, drowning in this moment as he gladly lets it wash over him.

I couldn't agree with him more. I miss this even if it's only been a day since the last time we were together. It's not enough. It's _never_ enough. Being with him... it's like being where I'm supposed to be. I know it's horribly cliche to say that I feel complete, but I really don't know how else to put it. It's honestly like we're two halves, and when we connect, when our bodies come together like this, we're whole.

I would live like this if I could.

I would spend _all_ day _every_ day inside him just to feel this fulfilled for the rest of my life.

Gazing up at his flushed cheeks and breathlessly parted lips, I'm suddenly overcome with an inescapable desire to kiss him. I hold him tightly against me I push myself up off of the floor, lacing my fingers in his hair and hungrily pulling him closer, until finally I can capture his mouth with my own. I hear myself moan in satisfaction, and he echoes it almost immediately, our bodies colliding erratically over and over again as we hopelessly fight to hold onto this feeling of absolute bliss for as long as we possibly can. But with him looking the way he does, and _feeling_ the way he does, it's not long at all before I start to lose any control I ever had over how quickly I start to unravel. I don't even have to tell him I'm close, he can sense it, he can hear it in every breath that passes my lips.

" _Don't_ ," He pants demandingly, his eyes locking with mine. "Not yet."

"I can't..." I whimper apologetically, clutching at his waist as though holding on to him will help to keep me from letting go.

He's almost here with me, he's so close. But the closer he gets, the better _I_ feel, which definitely isn't going to do anything to help me hold back! I clamp me eyes shut, hoping that not being able to see how turned on he is will help to calm me down even just a fraction. But having my eyes closed seems to exaggerate every sound he makes, it's like they're even louder than I know they actually are, I can hear them so much more clearly. My teeth sink into my bottom lip painfully, but the pain is still no competition for the pleasure, and I swear I'm going to lose this battle.

"Tommy..."

No sooner have I gasped his name than I feel him come, and I more than readily accept my own release.

It's so much more intense than I can remember it ever being before, with him or anyone else. It seems crazy, because as incredible as this was, it wasn't the _best_ sex we've ever had. But for whatever reason, that one brief moment of ecstasy was unquestionably more powerful, it leaves me reeling in ways I never anticipated and wasn't at all prepared for. I'm sure this is going to sound stupid, and maybe I'm just drowning in endorphins and therefore not thinking straight, but I swear... it has to mean _something_.

It _felt_ significant.

I briefly consider asking Tommy if he felt it, too. But then I realize that he'll probably laugh at me, and as I picture myself telling him how it felt, and I try to think of the words I would even use to express it, _I_ start laughing at myself.

"What's so funny?" He chuckles exhaustedly, as I gracelessly collapse onto my back, pulling him down on top of me.

"Nothing." I assure him, trying to control my giggles as he shakes his head at me in amused confusion. "I think I just had a religious experience or something."

"While you were having sex with _me_? I doubt it; I use protection against that kind of thing."

"Well... Satanism is a religion, too."

"True." He grins proudly, leaning down and gently kissing me. "In that case, I'm flattered."

Since there's really no good reason for us to rush to get up, we lounge around on the kitchen floor for the next fifteen minutes or so until the oven timer goes off. The noise surprises Tommy, who apparently has never used the oven timer before and had no idea what it sounded like. With an agreement to meet on his bed, he forces himself up and into the bathroom, and I temporarily put my underwear back on just long enough to take the lasagna out of the oven and grab a couple of forks from one of the kitchen drawers.

I've already made myself comfortable on his bed by the time he joins me, and he eagerly slips underneath the comforter beside me and accepts the fork that I'm holding out to him. "Careful you don't touch the dish, it's hot."

"Okay." He nods solemnly, looking up from the food to meet my eyes. "But what about the glass?"

It takes me a couple of seconds to realize that he's implying that _I'm_ the dish, and _I'm_ hot. And as soon as I get his little joke, I feel my cheeks burning and I have to fight the urge to jab him in the arm with my fork.

"Just... shut up and eat."

He does as he's told, carefully scooping a small piece of the lasagna onto his fork and blowing on it for a moment before slipping it into his mouth. And I'm so busy watching him with bated breath, waiting for his reaction, that I can't bring myself to eat until he swallows.

"Oh my God..." He groans through his mouthful, gazing down at the lasagna in awe. "I just burned my mouth in like twenty different places but it was _totally_ fucking worth it."

"I'm glad you like it." I chuckle, breathing a sigh of relief and finally taking a bite of my own.

"You need to quit your band and be my live-in personal chef." He demands, digging his fork into the food once again. "You can just make me food all day."

"All day? You might develop some weight issues."

"No I won't, 'cause all the sex will balance it out." He beams at me. "Problem solved!"

"When are we going to be having all this sex if I'm supposed to be making you food _all_ day?"

"All night."

"And I sleep... when, exactly?"

He shrugs dismissively and takes another bite of food. "When you have a spare minute, I guess."

"As long as we have a plan."

We're both hungry enough that we end up eating at least half of the lasagna before Tommy reluctantly admits that we should stop. He places the cooking dish on the floor beside the bed and tells me never to mention to Mike that it's been anywhere near either of our naked bodies. Neither of us have the energy to do anything much besides lay in bed and watch whatever happens to be on TV, but that's perfectly fine by me. It's not really something I do very often; there's always something else I need to be doing instead. I have no problem lying here with him and mindlessly staring at the screen, it's the most relaxing thing I've done in weeks.

About halfway through an episode of some moderately interesting show called ' _Fact or Faked: Paranormal Files_ ', I can feel him starting to drift off to sleep. Normally, I wouldn't stop him, I'd just enjoy how satisfied and comfortable I feel. How right this is. But because I have to leave him in a couple of hours, I can't.

"Tommy?"

"Hmm?" He grunts sleepily.

How do I say this without depressing us both? "I... if you fall asleep, do you want me to wake you up?"

I can't bring myself to add "before I go", and the unfinished sentence confuses him for a moment before he finally figures out what I'm asking. Then he's left to make the choice: fall asleep with me but wake up alone, or fall asleep alone _and_ wake up alone.

"Don't wake me up." He eventually sighs, the arm he has draped across my stomach holding me a little tighter as he speaks. "I'm sick of saying goodbye."

Me too.

I want to tell him that I'm sorry, but I know he'll only tell me not to be. We can spend our time fighting over whether or not I have anything to be sorry for, again, or I can just let it go and let him fall asleep in my arms. Which he does within minutes, leaving me with nothing but the TV to keep me awake and distract me from my melancholy thoughts.

It does a much better job of the former than the latter.

All too soon, it's ten, and I have to carefully pry his arm from around my waist and slip out of his bed. He makes a vague sound of disapproval, like some part of him is aware of my sudden absence even though he's still unconscious, but he doesn't wake up. It feels wrong to just leave like this, it's too reminiscent of someone trying to sneak out after a one night stand, trying to pretend they were never there. But he didn't want to see this, he didn't want to watch me leave _again_. And as much as I want to kiss him goodbye and promise him I'll be back again soon, I have to admit that it's much easier to walk out of his bedroom knowing that, when I glance over my shoulder one last time, he won't be staring sadly back at me.

I take the leftover lasagna with me to the kitchen, putting it in the fridge before gathering my t-shirt and jeans off of the kitchen floor and heading for the bathroom. I can feel myself dragging, and it's not because I'm tired, it's because I don't want to leave. But I know I'm only delaying the inevitable by a matter of minutes. It doesn't make any difference if I take two minutes to put my pants on or ten, once they're on I'm still going to leave this apartment and get on a plane that will take me to the other side of the country. And I don't know when I'll be back.

 _That's_ what makes this even harder.

It still feels impossible to go, even though it's nearing ten fifteen now and I'm going to have to speed the entire way back to the rental lot in order to make my flight on time. But I need to do _something_ , I need to say _something_.

As I make my way back out into the living room, I notice a notepad sitting on the coffee table, and I quickly tear a piece of a blank page out, using the pen beside it to write:

_I'll see you soon. Promise._

Then, after taking a moment to think of something more to add, I draw an arrow directing him to turn the note over, and on the back I scribble:

_Let me know how the Lemonaise tastes!_

_:op_

It's not the "I love you" I would have preferred to leave him with, but I know it's much more likely to make him smile.

 

At the end of the day, that's _all_ I want to do.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About to hop on a plane to Tulsa (HANSON MOE 2012, HERE WE COME!!!), but I didn't wanna go without giving you guys an update!

  


  


 

 

 

 

_ Studio City, California  - May 26th, 2011 _

_  
_

You know that feeling you get when you want something _so_ badly, and it's practically _right_ there in front of you, but for whatever reason you're not allowed to have it?

That's how I feel right now.

Frustrated. Restless. Antsy. _Desperate_.

I've been in Los Angeles for the past four days, and I haven't seen Tommy even once. It's driving me _nuts_! We're flying out to London on Saturday for our five night concert series there next month, and he's leaving for Russia _tonight_ to play a show with Adam, so today is absolutely my _last_ chance to see him for probably another month, at least.

The whole reason I haven't been able to find an opportunity to see him so far is because it's not just me out here this time, or even just the band, it's our families, too. All the wives and kids are packed into one little hotel just north of Hollywood Hills. It was Ike's bright idea; he's just _full_ of them lately. Apparently having them all accompany us to England wasn't enough for him, he thought we should take a break from rehearsals and work for some "family time". I swear he thinks that if he force feeds me enough "happily family" crap I'm just going to wake up one day and decide that I don't want to sleep with Tommy anymore and I'd much rather be straight. Despite my insistence that we should focus on preparing for the Five of Five, everyone else loved the idea of a big family getaway, and they all agreed on L.A. as the destination because it's right by Disneyland and the beach, and has endless things to see and do with the kids.

And me being the selfish asshole that I am, I could only think about one thing as I listened to them all excitedly making plans over dinner.

_Maybe I'll get to see Tommy._

So I jumped on board the whole idea, and I stupidly told Tommy that I'd be in town for a few days. We both got our hopes up that we'd get to spend at least _some_ time together, even if it wasn't much... but it's looking less and less likely as the days pass by.

I don't want to disappoint him. I've been doing my best to put my family first all week (which I realize is what I should do _all_ the time, I'm not saying I deserve a medal or anything), but if I don't speak up soon and tell Natalie that I need a few hours of "me time", I'm not going to get it. It's just hard, because I know that she's going to be hurt that I'm taking away from her time with me, but it's not like it's for long. And she and the kids are going to be with me for the next two whole weeks in Europe (even if I will be working a lot).

Besides, as wrong as I'm sure it is, I'm more worried about hurting Tommy by cancelling our tentative plans than I am about hurting Nat. This is it, these fragments of time are _all_ he gets from me. And even though _he_ believes he doesn't have a right to anything more, or even to that much, I'd give anything to be able to give him more.

"Hey, Nat?" I begin hesitantly, fidgeting with my phone as I watch her make her way out of the bathroom of our hotel suite with Viggo perched on her right hip. Here goes nothing... "I was thinking I might head into Hollywood or something later today to hang out with a few friends." Her face falls immediately, the easy smile evaporating from her lips. "It that's okay...?"

She puts Viggo on the floor, kissing him on the forehead and sweetly telling him to go play with his brothers in the main room. But the second he's out of the door, she turns to me with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face.

"Are you going to see Alex?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not!" I'm really not, and I feel entirely too justified because of that fact. "I swear, I'm not planning to hang out with Alex."

"Then who is it?"

"Just... some people I haven't seen in a while." Okay, now I'm lying. But only a little... "It doesn't have to be for the whole day -"

"No."

"... What?"

Folding her arms across her chest boldly, she fixes me with her most no-nonsense stare. Despite the fact that we've been married for nine years, it's honestly not a look I'm used to seeing on her. And that's because I spend a good deal of time and energy doing everything I can to keep her happy so that she _won't_ make this face at me. Because when she makes this face it's _bad_.

"I said no." I seriously feel like I'm five years old right now; she may as well put me in a time out or tell me I'm grounded or something. Actually, if you think about it, that's kind of what she is doing. "I'm going out with Kate, so _you_ need to stay here and look after _your_ kids."

"Since when do you have plans with Kate?"

"Since last night." She informs me huffily, slipping on her shoes and checking her hair in the mirror. "She asked me if I wanted to go into Beverly Hills and have a girl's day, but I told her I'd have to see if you had plans first."

"I do!"

"I meant plans for _us_ , Taylor. Plans for us as a _family_. But since you don't, I'm going to take her up on her offer." Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ "I think I deserve a day off, don't you?"

I can't really argue with that; she's right, she does deserve it. "Fine."

"It's not like you _never_ come to L.A., you're here more than you're in Tulsa. You can just see your friends next time." She points out as she grabs her purse from the desk at the foot of the bed. "Unless of course you know any rock stars who want to spend the day hanging out at Chuck-E-Cheese."

With that, she disappears into the other room to say goodbye to the kids, doling out the normal, semi-playful warnings for them to behave themselves before I hear the sound of the door closing behind her as she leaves.

I guess that's it, then.

I really, _really_ don't want to have to call Tommy and tell him that the past few days he's spent waiting around and putting his life on hold in case I could find a moment to get away and see him were a total waste of his time. Especially when I have nothing to offer as a consolation; I don't have any idea when I'll be back here or when we'll see each other again, and I _hate_ not knowing that. For both our sakes.

After checking on the kids to make sure that they're all still engrossed in 'Phineas & Ferb' and not swinging from the drapes or drawing on the walls with Sharpies (it wouldn't be the first time), I push the bedroom door to and park myself back on the end of the bed. It takes me a moment of staring at my phone, trying to find the right words to break the news to Tommy, before I can even bring myself to call him. But the right words just aren't coming, and I know every second I wait to let him down is another second that _he's_ wasting waiting for me.

"Hey!" He greets me cheerfully as soon as he answers his phone. "You're up early."

I can't help smiling simply because I know that he's smiling, too. But that smile quickly fades when I remember why I called. "Yeah, it's kind of a hazard of the job. Early mornings, late nights, and long days..."

"I take it you're not talking about the band?" Apparently my tone said it all, and so does his. Even though he tries to conceal his disappointment with a joke, I can tell that he knows this call isn't to bring him good news. "Couldn't get a day pass from the asylum, huh?"

"I'm _so_ sorry, Tommy. I _tried_ , but Nat was pretty pissed at me for wanting to spend time away from the family."

"Yeah, I kinda figured she would be."

"She told me that, since I didn't want to be with her, she was going out for the day with Kate instead, and now it's just me and the kids." I explain apologetically, the image of his sad face burned into my mind even though I'm not there to actually see it. Apparently I've seen it enough times now that I can vividly picture it. "I thought about asking Ike or Zac to watch them, but I know Ike won't do it if he thinks for a second it's so I can spend time with you. And if Kate's going out with Nat that means Zac is already looking after his kids, he can't handle all six of them by himself."

"It's okay... I get it."

I know he honestly _does_ get it, I just wish he didn't have to. And more than that, I wish he didn't sound so fucking _miserable_. I want to do something to fix it, but I don't know that there is anything. So we just... sit. Neither of us saying a word because the only thing that's really left to say is "maybe next time".  

Whenever next time might be.

I keep replaying my mini-fight with Natalie over and over in my mind, trying to find some point where I could have said or done something differently so that she would have been okay with me going out by myself for a couple of hours. And it's _so_ pointless, because even if I could find that pivotal moment, it wouldn't change anything. It's too late now.

But while I'm going through every last word we said to one another, something _she_ said to _me_ suddenly stands out in my mind. I know she wasn't serious, she was trying to make a point, trying to prove to me that my "rock star" friends only want to hang out with me when I'm flying solo, but not when I'm on daddy duty. And she's right, most (if not all) of them wouldn't want to spend their day with me and four children under the age of ten. Hell, Tommy probably doesn't want to either. Which makes this the most insane idea I could possibly propose to him.

But I still hear myself say it anyway.

"Do you wanna come with us?"

"Come where with who?" He questions apprehensively, the note of anxiety in his voice making it obvious that he knows exactly what I'm asking.

"Out for the day with me and the kids?"

"Are you _crazy_?" He laughs, but I can tell he doesn't find it all that funny. He probably thinks I've lost my mind. And maybe I have.

The more I think about it, though, the less crazy I feel. "Probably. But I'm still serious."

"Taylor-"

"Look, I know it's kinda weird and everything, but at least we'd still get to see each other. And... I really want you to meet them."

" _Why_?"

"Because they're the four greatest things I've _ever_ done in my whole life, they're a huge part of me. And you're-"

"The guy their dad is fucking behind their mom's back?" He cuts me off tersely, but that reaction doesn't surprise me at all. It's exactly what I expected he'd say.

"You're more than that."

"To you, maybe. Not to the rest of the world."

"I don't care about the rest of the world, I care about _you_. And I really want you to meet my kids."

And he, apparently, doesn't have an answer. I hear him take a deep breath, and I suddenly feel like an ass for putting him in this position and giving him this choice to make. He doesn't want to turn me down when I've just told him how important my kids are to me, but I don't think the idea of spending the day with them is all that appealing to him, either.

"You don't think it's kind of... inappropriate?" He finally sighs.

"No, I think it's completely inappropriate." I admit honestly, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "But if either of us had ever cared all that much about what is and isn't appropriate, we never would've so much as kissed."

"Touché."

"Like I said, if it's too weird for you, I understand. Or if you just don't wanna spend the day with a bunch of out of control kids-"

"It's not that. I love kids, I just... I don't know. I feel like I'd be... intruding or something."

"You won't be, I _promise_. They're used to meeting other musicians I'm friends with, they're not gonna think it's strange. Plus, I think we're just going to end up going to a movie anyway, so it'll be totally low pressure, you'll barely have to talk to them. And if you still feel totally awkward about it, you can make up a reason to leave as soon as the movie ends. I swear I won't try to talk you into staying if you wanna go."

There's another lengthy pause as he weighs the pros and cons of everything I've proposed. Then there's another sigh as he gives in to his decision, and finally I get my answer.

"What movie are we seeing?"

After finding out that we're probably going to end up seeing 'Kung Fu Panda 2', I have to re-talk him into the whole thing. But eventually he agrees to meet us at CityWalk just before eleven. That leaves me with an hour to get all four of my kids out of their PJs, dressed, washed, brushed and ready to go. At first they all whine and bemoan the fact that I shut off their beloved cartoons, but as soon as I tell them where we're going and what we're doing, they're jumping off of (and up and down on) their sofa beds and racing to get ready. I casually mention to them that a friend of mine is going to meet us there, and just as I suspected, none of them care. As long as they get whatever movie theater candy they want, they're happy.

I'm sure that, to anyone who passes us on our way through the hotel, it probably looks like I'm the ringleader of some kind of travelling circus. Ezra's racing off ahead, stopping every few seconds to do some form of kung fu move, Penny is prancing and twirling around like a Disney princess on speed, River is literally driving his toy truck _up_ the walls, and Viggo is swinging from my arm like an escaped zoo animal. But to me, this is nothing. This is normal. Hell, this is _easy_. No one is crying, no one is complaining, no one is tattling, and no one has an "owie" (yet). My motto is: if it makes them happy, and it's not going to hurt them, let them do it. I know that must sound like a very casual approach to parenting, but it works for me.

It worked for my parents, too; how else do you think I ended up forming a band at age eight?

I bundle the kids into the Dodge Caravan we rented for the trip, making sure that they're all safely buckled into their booster seats for the five minute journey over to Universal Studios. And they spend the entire drive excitedly discussing what they want from the concessions stand, constantly changing their minds and repeatedly placing their orders with me as though I can somehow magically make their snacks appear right this second. Again, I'm used to this. It happens _every_ time we go to the movies, and I've learned to simply smile and say "okay", because trying to tell them to save it until we get there makes absolutely _no_ difference.

Tommy's already waiting for us outside the movie theater, just like we planned, and I'm glad to see he beat us here because keeping four very impatient kids waiting is guaranteed to give you a migraine in less than a minute. To say that he looks nervous as we approach him would be putting it mildly. It's actually kind of cute; I've never seen him look so self-conscious before.

"Guys, this is my friend that I told you about." I explain to them over-enthusiastically (because it's a proven fact that the more excited you are about something, the more excited kids get). "Can you say 'hi Tommy'?"

"Hi Tommy!" They chorus like a well trained choir, briefly flashing gap-toothed grins at him before turning their attention to the glass windows behind him and trying to get a sneak peak at the popcorn.

"Hi." He chuckles uncertainly, and unless I'm very much mistaken, he's _shy_.

It'd probably be wrong to get my phone out and take a picture, right?

"Tommy, this is... everyone." I introduce him while River grabs my hand and starts trying to tug me over to the entrance. "The human sled-dog here is River, the heartbreaker over there is Penny, the mini, red-headed version of me is Ezra, and the short one hiding behind my leg is Viggo."

Tommy takes a deep breath, nodding his head slowly as he attempts to absorb this new information. "I think I got it..."

"Daddy come _on_!" River exclaims in exasperation. "They're gonna run out of M &Ms!"

"Okay, okay! But you still have to wait one second while I get the tickets."

"Already got 'em." Tommy smiles, holding them up to demonstrate. "I got here a little early and figured I might as well make myself useful."

"You didn't have to do that!" He shrugs, his cheeks turning that adorable shade of pink again as we walk towards the main doors. "I'll pay you back."

"Not if I don't let you."

"But-"

"Buy me some nachos and we'll call it even."

I don't have chance to argue because the second my kids hear him mention movie snacks, they all turn to me and start telling me _again_ what they want. Luckily, there aren't any lines at the concessions stand, so I quickly herd them all over to the nearest cashier and wish her luck keeping up with them as they place their orders. And then change their orders. And then argue about who got the better candy once she sets their food on the counter in front of them.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to let them have this much sugar?" Tommy murmurs to me in genuine concern as we stand back and watch them gather all of the soda, candy, popcorn, and ice cream into their arms.

"Surprisingly enough, it doesn't really make _that_ much difference." I explain to him with a nonchalant shrug, handing the cashier my credit card. "Especially not if you drink as much coffee as I intend to."

"Gotcha."

He attempts to help me wrangle them all out of the lobby and down the hall to our theater, but I can tell that he's still more than a little overwhelmed by how many of them there are and how much energy they all have. They're talking at a mile a minute, to us and to each other, _over_ each other, so it's impossible to figure out who is talk about what and if you're even the one they're speaking to. Well, I assume it's impossible for him, at least. I have years of practice, not only from being a father since I was nineteen, but from having six siblings of my own. You learn to dissect the noise, decipher what's being said, and keep up with the multiple conversations without even trying.

Either that or you fake it and hope no one notices, which is what he's probably trying to do right now.

Of course, the chaos doesn't end once we get to the theater, because we still have the all important seating arrangements to decide on. Penny and River are both adamant that they get to sit by me, and Viggo still refuses to let go of my leg, so I decide to keep him on my lap and let the other two sit either side of me. Thankfully, Ez isn't too bothered who he sits by, he grew out of that clingy phase last year, so he ends up sitting to my left beside River, which leaves Penny and Tommy to my right.

We can't really hold a conversation with them all sitting right here, but it's not such a big deal. I get to look at him, smile at him, and considering the fact that a couple of hours ago I wasn't sure I'd get to do either of those things, it's enough.

"Are you wearing makeup?" I suddenly hear Penny inquire, and my eyes instantly dart from Tommy's face down to the back of her head as she studies him with great interest.

"Uh... yeah, I'm wearing eyeliner." He laughs softly.

"My mommy wears makeup." She informs him very matter-of-factly. "Make up is for girls, _not_ boys."

After considering that statement for a few seconds, Tommy simply shrugs and smiles down at her. "I don't think anything is just for girls _or_ for boys. I think it's more fun when everyone gets to do what they want."

"What about dresses?" Penny challenges in her most sassy tone. "Do you think boys should wear dresses like girls do?"

"If they want to. I have lots of friends who like wearing dresses even though they're boys."

"Do _you_ wear dresses?"

He seems a little taken aback by the question, but more so by the feisty way in which she asked it. I swear, those wide brown eyes and soft blonde curls will fool you every time. I'm honestly not one of those fathers who worries about their daughter becoming old enough to start dating. Because if her sixteen-year-old self is anything like her six-year-old self, she's going to scare boys into behaving themselves better than any empty "I own a gun" threats from me ever could.

"No, I don't." Answers Tommy carefully, a playful smirk curling his lips as he leans a little closer and stage whispers to her. "But I wore a tutu one time."

She giggles loudly and shakes her head at him in amusement. "You're silly!"

"I get that a lot."

While Penny goes back to picking at her popcorn, Tommy and I share a smile that lets me know he's not feeling nearly as weird about this as he thought he would. It's a _huge_ relief to be able to do this with him, and to have it be going so well. I never even realized that this was something I _needed_ , which is crazy when I think about it, because _of course_ I need him to be at ease around my kids and for my kids to feel comfortable with him.

There's no chance that this thing between us could ever truly work out if they weren't.


	59. Chapter 59

  


  


 

 

 

Even though an animated children's movie about a giant panda battling an evil peacock isn't really Tommy's thing (I doubt he'll be getting any tattoos to commemorate it), I hear him laughing along with my kids several times throughout the movie. And every time I steal a glance at him, he has a smile on his face. I was so worried that he wouldn't have a good time, but knowing that he's enjoying himself makes it so much easier for me to relax and have fun, too. It also makes me hopeful that, once the movie ends, he won't be making up any excuses to get out of having lunch with us.

The kids are up and out of their seats the second the credits roll, chattering excitedly about the movie, reciting lines, and attempting to do kung fu moves in the cramped space between our row and the one in front of us. Tommy just stands back and watches the madness, apparently curious to see how the hell I'm going to calm them down enough to get them out of the theater.

"Who wants chicken quesadillas?" I ask just loud enough for them to hear me, and as I expected, they all instantly turn to me and start bouncing up and down with their hands in the air as though they expect me to hand them a quesadilla right here and now. "Okay, let's head back to the car and we'll go to Poquito Mas!"

"Yes!" Ezra exclaims gleefully, with a dramatic fist pump in the air.

"And that's how it's done." I tell Tommy smugly as he falls into step beside me on our way back out into the lobby.

"I can't believe they're hungry already." He chuckles in astonishment. "They ate like... their weight in candy and popcorn over the last two hours!"

"Yeah, they're bottomless pits. Our fans joke that they're paying to put our kids through college, but if they saw our grocery bill every week they'd know that any income we have that doesn't go right back into running our record company is being _eaten_."

"But they're tiny! I don't know where they put it all."

"You should talk." I tease, unable to resist the urge to poke him in the side.

"Hey, don't start with the twig comparisons again, okay? I have a beer belly!" He declares, placing his hand over his tiny stomach and giving it a proud little pat. "And I'm working on some man boobs to go with it."

" _That's_ hot."

"Daddy?" River suddenly reappears at my side, staring up at me with big, pleading brown eyes. "Can Tommy come with us to Poquito Mas?"

"I don't know." I reply honestly, looking over at Tommy to see if his expression will give me any hint about how he's feeling. "Whaddya think? Are you sick of us yet, or do you wanna stick around for lunch?"

He pretends to think about it for a moment, but as soon as he glances down at River's hopeful face he's done for. "I never say no to tacos."

"I _love_ tacos!" River beams back at him. "They're my most favorite food _ever_ in the _world_!"

"You and me both, dude."

"You wanna know what my other favorite foods are?"

"Sure! What are they?" Asks Tommy with a quiet chuckle, clearly not realizing what he's just gotten himself into.

River takes a deep breath, preparing to reel off every food he's ever put in his mouth and not hated. Because anything River doesn't hate is automatically classified a favorite. There is _no_ middle ground with this kid. I've never come across an almost-five-year-old who is so passionate about _everything_.

Not since I was one, anyway.

"I love pizza, and mac and cheese, and peanut butter, but I _don't_ like jelly." He informs us very seriously, and Tommy seems to be under the mistaken impression that the list is complete. "And I like ice cream, but only strawberry... well, sometimes I like chocolate, but mostly I just like strawberry. And I really like grapes, but I _hate_ oranges. But I like orange juice, I drink it _all_ the time! And apple juice, too, that's my _most_ favorite juice!"

"Wow..." Laughs Tommy, a little taken aback by the laundry list of foods and drinks he just received. "You like a lot of stuff, huh?"

"I like other stuff, too!"

"You gone done it now." I mumble to Tommy as River launches into another round of 'stuff I love' that lasts us all the way back to the car.

Poquito Mas is basically right around the corner from CityWalk, so we're there and parked in no time. And then begins the process of re-unloading the kids from the car and corralling them into the restaurant. Once our orders are all placed and we've found a table big enough to fit all of us (and Viggo's 'Let's Rock' Elmo doll, which he refused to leave in the car), Ezra declares that he needs to go to the bathroom, which automatically means that River and Penny do, too. But since Viggo is still in pull-ups and is currently dry, there's no reason for me to take him along with us.

Well... no reason besides not wanting Tommy to be left alone with him.

"It's fine, I'll watch him." He insists, trying to offer me his most encouraging smile.

"Are you sure? He's going through this clingy phase right now, he hates it when I leave... he can be a bit of a handful."

"You're only gonna be gone for five minutes." He points out unconcernedly. "I can handle it. Besides, I need to get in as much practice as I can before Lisa pops and I officially become 'Uncle Tommy'."

"Okay..."

Just as I suspected, the second I get up to leave the table with my three eldest children, my youngest bursts into tears and starts calling out for me. I know from way too much experience that telling him I'll be right back won't soothe him, in fact, if I so much as look over my shoulder at him it'll probably just make it worse. But I stupidly do it anyway, not because I want to see if he's okay (I know he is), but because I want to make sure Tommy isn't already regretting his decision to stay behind alone with a screaming two-year-old.

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind me, all sounds from outside are silenced. That means that I have to spend the next few minutes trying to convince myself that Viggo has stopped throwing a fit and isn't making Tommy want to run screaming from the restaurant. It's hard not to worry, though. Pretty much the only people Nat and I can leave Viggo alone with and _not_ have him totally freak out are Zac and Kate, and that's only because Zac can do a decent Elmo impression. He won't even let Ike hold him when he's having one of his meltdowns, and he sees Ike _all_ the time. Tommy is a total stranger to him...

What was I thinking doing this to either of them?!

"Come on, guys, we need to get back to your brother so he'll stop crying!"

"He _always_ cries over _everything_." Ezra laments unsympathetically before flushing the toilet and reemerging from his bathroom stall. "He's such a crybaby."

"You cried a lot when you were his age, too."

"Not as much as he does!"

It's true, Ezra was a pretty easygoing baby compared to his little brother, but there's no way _he_ can possibly remember that. "You're right. I think you cried _more_."

"Nuh uh!"

"I cried the littlest." River declares confidently as he joins us by the sinks to wash his hands. "I was the _good_ baby."

"You're were _all_ good babies, and you _all_ cried a lot."

"Not as much as Viggo, though." Ezra continues to insist, drying his hands on a paper towel before handing some to River so that he can do the same. " _No one_ cries as much as Viggo."

"Be nice, he's your baby brother."

"I _am_ nice. _He's_ the one who's always taking my stuff!"

Oh, good lord.

By the time we get out of the bathroom and find Penny waiting for us, we still can't hear Viggo crying anymore. I can't see him from here to be sure, but unless Tommy got so frustrated by him that he stuffed him into a garbage can, I think it's safe to say he somehow managed to make him stop. Sure enough, the first glimpse I get of Tommy and Viggo confirms that the tears have officially and miraculously ceased! Tommy has Viggo comfortably situated on his lap, and they're both staring down at something on Tommy's phone. Viggo is definitely more entertained by it than Tommy is, he's grinning and swaying happily from side to side. The closer we get, the more clearly I can hear the video they're watching, and I have to cover my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud.

" _La la la la, la la la la, Elmo's song!_ "

"You tell anyone about this, I'll kill you." Tommy glares up at me as I take my seat opposite him at the table again, holding my hands up in a show of surrender.

"Can I see it?" Asks River eagerly, hurrying over to Tommy's side and peering closely at his phone.

"Tha's mine!" Viggo immediately insists, snatching the phone out of Tommy's unsuspecting hands and clutching it to his chest possessively. "You can't have it!"

"It's okay." Tommy assures him through a chuckle, carefully prying the phone out of his resistant grasp. "We can let him look."

Viggo seems somewhat perturbed by this idea, but eventually he takes Tommy's hand in both of his tiny ones and positions it so that the phone screen is _directly_ in front of him. "But leave it here, 'kay?"

"Okay."

"I hate Elmo." Ezra mutters as Penny climbs into her chair next to Tommy and joins in the video viewing.

"Hey, now, Elmo's my hero!" I tell him playfully, nudging him in the arm and smiling when I see him fighting to keep the scowl on his face. "He's the only thing that stops your brother from crying."

"Because he's a crybaby!"

"Ez?"

"Yeah?"

"If you stop pouting and calling your brother names, I'll let you play Angry Birds until our food is ready."

"Until we're done eating." He counter-offers like a pro.

I narrow my eyes at him for a moment, debating whether or not to give in to his demands. But if it keeps him from complaining and sulking like a bad-tempered teenager for the duration of lunch, I'm not gonna say no.

"Deal." I relent, pulling my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and handing it to him. "Just don't get refried beans all over this time."

"I won't!"

For the next few minutes there's nothing but blissful calm and quiet (well, except for Elmo's annoying singing), and while my kids are distracted by various iPhone related activities, Tommy and I take the opportunity to "check in". Even if we do have to do it without speaking.

"You okay?" I mouth across the table to him, receiving a genuine smile and a nod in response. "Sorry for the crazy."

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes at me the way I knew he would. "Don't be."

" _Thank you_."

"Welcome."

Once our order is ready and I've brought everything over to the table, my kids grudgingly let Tommy put his phone away so that we can all focus on our food instead of a small, red puppet who talks about himself in the third person. I'm right in the middle of helping Viggo to unwrap his burrito when I hear a soft gasp of surprise from Penny, followed by a much louder one from River, and then an awed "cool!" from Ezra. I don't know what I thought they were reacting to, but I didn't expect to look up and find them all gazing in amazement at Tommy's arms.

He chuckles somewhat uneasily, as though he's worried he's done something wrong. "Maybe I shoulda kept my jacket on?"

"It's okay. I think this might actually be their first real experience with tattoos, though." I warn him, watching in amusement as River grabs his arm and yanks it closer to inspect it.

"Is that your grandpa?" Penny inquires, timidly touching Tommy's John Wayne tattoo as though she's afraid she might smudge it or something.

"No, that's The Duke!"

"The Duke of what?" Frowns Ezra, climbing out of his seat so that he can get a better look.

"Oh, I like the flower one!" Penny grins at Tommy before he has a chance to answer Ezra's question "But those other ones aren't very pretty. That girl has weird eyes!"

River gasps again, his nose practically pressed to Tommy's left forearm. "Is that _blood_?!"

I kind of feel like I should intervene or something, but he doesn't seem to mind at all. Besides, this is too much fun! My kids are never around people who have tattoos, at least not ones that are big enough or visible enough for them to notice. They've never even really seen mine; Nat doesn't want them thinking tattoos are cool just because I was "irresponsible enough to get one". But then along comes Tommy, with his arms practically covered in horror movie characters and blood splatters. It's like they're being introduced to a whole new world, and the expressions on their faces right now are priceless.

"Do they wash off in the bath?" River asks curiously, gazing up at Tommy. "I had a Lightening McQueen tattoo one time but it washeded off in the bath."

"Nah, these ones don't wash off."

"Not _ever_?!"

"Nope, never."

Penny suddenly looks very bereft by this information, as though she has just been told that Tommy has a horrible illness. "But... what if you don't like them anymore one day? You still have to have them on you _forever_?"

"I made sure I only got tattoos of stuff I really love, that way I'll never not like them."

"You _love_ that scary girl?" She wrinkles her nose, clearly unable to see the attraction. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"Okay, let's leave Tommy's arms alone and eat!" I instruct them, attempting to sound stern even though I'm fighting back laughter. "Our lunches are getting cold."

There's a fleeting moment of silence as we all turn our attention to our food and start picking at our chips and salsa. But I should have known it wouldn't last. My kids like to lull me into a false sense of security, letting me believe that they actually listened to me and followed my instructions before catching me off guard somehow. I know that they don't _really_ do it intentionally, but sometimes it seems as though they do. It's like I can feel them watching me, waiting for that all important second when I relax.

Only then will they strike.

"I'm never gonna get a tattoo." Penny declares, sitting up a little straighter in her seat and raising a piece of quesadilla to her mouth. "Mommy says that if God wants us to get tattoos, he would choose them for us himself and we would get born with them."

This is very true; I've heard Nat say those exact words to our kids before. She doesn't believe in "disrespecting our bodies" that way (but apparently God thinks diamond earrings are totally acceptable). I didn't expect Penny to tell Tommy that, though. And knowing his stance on religion, I have no idea how he plans to react. Judging by the look on his face right now, neither does he. He's clearly torn between making a contradictory point or letting the topic drop because he doesn't want to undermine Natalie's views in front of her kids.

He looks across the table at me, and somehow I can tell he's asking for approval of some kind. I probably shouldn't grant it, even if I don't agree with Natalie's point of view on tattoos, either. But I find myself shrugging permissively anyway.

"Well... I think that, if God didn't want people to get tattoos, he wouldn't have created tattoo parlors."

That comment almost causes me to choke on my mouthful of taco, and Tommy looks mildly concerned that he's said something wrong until he realizes that I'm trying not to laugh so hard that I spit food all over the table. And because I so obviously find his counter-argument amusing, my children quickly decide that it's okay for them to giggle, too (even though I'm pretty sure that none of them understand what's so funny about it).

We manage to make it through the remainder of lunch without anyone saying anything else even slightly inflammatory, although River spends most of the meal staring at Tommy's left arm, following every move he makes with it, fascinated by the intricately inked characters on his skin like he's watching a cartoon or reading a comic book.

"So what do you guys have planned for the rest of the day?" Tommy asks as we dump our trash into a garbage can by the door on the way out.

"I don't know." I tell him honestly, turning to the decision makers of the family for ideas. "What do you think, guys? The beach again?"

"I don't wanna go to the beach." Protests Ezra immediately. "We _always_ go to the beach."

"Let's go to the zoo!" Viggo pipes up, clutching one of my hands and one of Tommy's as he swings back and forth between us.

"It's a little late for that today, kiddo." I inform him apologetically, earning a disappointed pout but thankfully no crying or whining. "We can go to the park, though?"

Penny's eyes immediately light up with excitement. "The one with the big merry-go-round?"

"Sure, if you want."

"Can Tommy come, too?" She asks, clasping at my hand pleadingly and tugging on it several times to emphasize how desperately she wants me to say yes. "Please?"

"I don't know..." I sigh dramatically, turning to Tommy and noting the smirk on his lips before he quickly adopts the most serious expression he can in order to play along with me. "He's _very_ busy."

" _Please_?" River echoes even more earnestly than his sister. "Please, please, please, please, _pleeease_?!"

"Well... since you said please." Tommy relents playfully.

It's just a short drive over to Griffith Park, and as I navigate the car along the winding roads beyond the entrance, I can't help thinking back to the last time I came here. I can't believe it's been six months already, it seems like only a few weeks ago that Tommy and I were walking onto the observatory deck together, gazing silently out at the glistening lights of Los Angeles, our relationship unstable and completely undefined. We've been through so much since then, everything feels so different. And our relationship, though still technically undefined, feels infinitely more stable.

Especially after today. This spontaneous decision to have Tommy meet my kids has meant _so_ much more to me than I ever could have anticipated going in to it. It's taken things between us to a whole new level and made everything even more real for me than it already was. I'd thought that he knew all of me, more than anyone else, but there was a part of me that he still hadn't truly seen.

And now he has.

After spending a good half an hour or so hanging out by the merry-go-round while Penny, Ezra, and River go round and round and up and down until they've almost reached the point of throwing up their lunch, we meander over to a nearby playground. Since it's a Thursday afternoon, it's not all that busy. There are plenty of families running around, but it's not as packed as the last time I came here, and there are still places for Tommy and I to relax while the kids unleash all of their pent up energy on the swings and slides. We find a bench near a sandbox that's just caught Viggo's eye, making sure that his three older siblings are still well within sight as we take our seats in the shade.

"It's been a long time since I spent this much time with this many kids." He notes after a long, comfortable quiet. "It makes me feel so fucking _old_."

"Well you _are_ almost thirty."

He snorts, jabbing me in the ribs with his elbow. "Fuck you."

"I know what you mean, though. They seem to have endless energy reserves; I get tired just watching them."

"It's insane!"

"Don't worry, the second we get back in the car again after this, they're all gonna pass out. _Guaranteed_." I tell him confidently, though he looks entirely skeptical. "Trust me, nothing tires a kid out like a couple of hours of running around in the sun."

"If you say so." He chuckles softly, his eyes closely following Penny and Ezra as they board one of the toy rocket ships and begin preparing for liftoff. "I kinda wish I was a kid right now. We never had cools parks like this when I was their age."

"I know! They have planes, trains, and automobiles. We had tire swings and monkey bars."

"Yeah, well, _everything_ was a lot simpler back then, not just jungle gyms."

"Yeah..."

It's been so long since my life has felt in any way simple or easy, but I know there _was_ a time when I knew what it meant to be carefree. _Before_ I knew what it meant to be gay, back when it was "okay" to throw tomatoes and dirt at girls (yup, guilty) and only hang out with boys. When my friends and family were the only people who knew my name, and my biggest choices were what cereal to have for breakfast or what t-shirt to wear. Nothing I did back then came anywhere close to ever having life-altering consequences for anyone else.

I miss that more than words can describe; I'd give anything to feel that way again.

But you can't ever go back.

"In case I forget to say it later, thank you." He blurts out suddenly, pulling me back to the present and leaving me thoroughly bemused by his gratitude.

"For what?"

A faint blush colors his pale cheeks, and he shrugs his shoulders a little. "This, I guess. Inviting me to hang out with you guys today."

"Thank _you_ for agreeing to come! I'm glad you didn't have a terrible time."

"I _definitely_ didn't. I know I wasn't really into the idea at first, I kinda thought they'd totally hate me-"

"No chance. They're good judges of character."

He nods, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he watches my three eldest children chasing one another around the nearby play structures. "They're pretty amazing."

"Thanks." I reply sincerely, wishing that I could accept his heartfelt compliment without feeling completely guilty. "I can't really take much credit, though. I'm never around enough for them to have picked up any of their good traits from me."

"Are you kidding? I've only been around them for a few hours and I can already see that there's _so_ much of you in all four of them, Taylor. And I'm not just talking about their looks."

I want to believe him. But most of the time I feel as though I have no right to even call myself their father. I love them more than anything in this world, but I'm _terrible_ at showing it. I hope with all my heart, every single day, that my behavior, my absenteeism and my selfishness, isn't something that will negatively impact them for the rest of their lives. I worry constantly that they're only so happy and well adjusted now because they're too young to realize what a deadbeat father I really am.

I'm terrified of what they'll think of me when they're old enough to know better...

"Tag, you're it!" Penny's gleeful squeals break through my thoughts as she races past the bench we're lounging on and taps Tommy on the arm.

"Hey!" He stares after her in open-mouthed indignation for a second or two before turning to me in search of assistance.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I force a smile and take a breath to calm my tumultuous emotions. "You'd better go after her. She's got a pretty good head start and you're not getting any younger-"

"Tag, _you're_ it!" He taunts, smacking me on the arm a lot harder than necessary.

" _Ow_!"

What transpires next is a very childish (but ridiculously enjoyable) slap fight, which quickly evolves into a dizzying game of cat and mouse around the bench. Somewhere along the line, all four of my kids join in, until it's no longer clear who is doing the chasing and who is being chased. Eventually Tommy and I seem to default to the role of chasers, and they all flee in random directions, leading us around in circles and figure eights until we both look and feel like we're about to pass out from exhaustion. But it doesn't matter. They're all giggling breathlessly, screeching with excitement as we relentlessly pursue them. I know that the smile on Tommy's face is mirrored on mine as he successfully apprehends Ezra, wrapping a strong arm securely around his waist while Ezra flails wildly in a hopeless attempt to escape.

And that's when it hits me.

It's like finally being granted the solution to a problem that I'd always thought was unsolvable, the answer to a question that has confounded me for years.

There was a padlock on the door of some imaginary room that I misguidedly shut myself away in years ago. I threw the key away, I made sure that I couldn't get out, because it was safer that way. I could hide.

Then I met him.

I met this person who saw through the walls I'd put up and the shadows I was cowering in... he _saw_ me. He saw me, and he wanted me, and he made me want to come out of the dark, out of that room, and be whoever the hell it is I really am. I just didn't think that I could. I thought it was too late, it had been too long, it was impossible. I wouldn't _ever_ be able to find that damn key...

But I think maybe I just did.

 

 


	60. Chapter 60

  


 

 

_ London, England  - June 9th, 2011 _

Yesterday was my wedding anniversary; I've officially been married for nine years (and one day).

And when I think about the fact that there are quite possibly forty, fifty, maybe even _sixty_ more anniversaries to come...

I can't breathe.

I'm pretty sure most men don't spend their wedding anniversaries staring themselves down in the bathroom mirror, fighting back tears of absolute hopelessness and trying to fend off a crippling anxiety attack. They don't take their wife out to a romantic dinner and then make love to her only because they know it's _expected_ of them. And they definitely don't sneak out of their hotel room to call the guy they're in love with as soon as they're sure she's asleep. But that's what _I_ did. I couldn't take my mind off of Tommy all day, all I wanted was to hear his voice. And the second I did, I felt infinitely better.

I could breathe.

Tomorrow night is the last show of our London concert series. After that we have a handful of promotional obligations to fulfill for the U.K. release of our album, a festival to play in the Netherlands... and then we'll be heading back to Tulsa. Back to reality.

I don't know if I can do it.

I've had this feeling before, but _never_ this intensely. Towards the end of every tour, I start to panic. I feel that claustrophobia sneaking up on me, a voice in the back of my head telling me I can't handle going home, I can't go back to that house, to that _life_. And I always overcome it, because I don't feel there's any other option. This time it's different, though.

 _Everything_ has been different for me since the last time I saw Tommy.

It's hard to even begin to explain why or what happened to me in those few short hours we spent together, but it turned everything on its head. We didn't kiss, not once, we barely even touched, but I feel closer to him now than ever. Seeing him with my kids, seeing how easily they opened up to him and how amazing he was with them... it was like an epiphany, as crazy as that sounds. I could see the two sides of myself that had been in conflict for so long finally existing in harmony with one another. I hadn't thought it could ever be possible, I didn't think I could be with Tommy _and_ still hold on to my family. It always felt like a choice, one or the other, and I just couldn't make it.

But now I'm starting to see that maybe I don't have to.

They've talked about him a lot since that afternoon. As I'd predicted, they fell asleep as soon as we got back to the car and began our short drive over to the lot where Tommy had left his own car. He didn't want me to wake them up to say goodbye; he wanted them to enjoy their much needed nap. But when they woke up and realized he was gone, their reactions ranged from outraged to devastated. I had to make several promises that we would see him again soon, though I have _no_ idea when 'soon' will be.

When River excitedly mentioned him in front of Natalie later that evening, I froze like a deer caught in headlights. I felt as though he'd just told her every secret I'd ever tried to keep, the walls closed in around me and the air vanished from the room before I could even draw one final breath.

But because she had absolutely no reason to suspect that I'm sleeping with a guy named Tommy behind her back, she just smiled and asked River who Tommy was. And I did my best to appear casual as I explained that he was someone I'd crossed paths with on tour and who we'd invited to Fools Banquet earlier in the year. She didn't seem bothered by _who_ I'd spent time with, merely the fact that I'd spent time with anyone besides the kids. She'd intended to "punish" me by leaving me with them all day when I'd wanted to go out, and I'd managed to take that punishment and turn it into something that hadn't only been fun for them but for me as well. I'd gotten my way (kind of), and that seemed to irritate her a little.

Not half as much as it irritated Ike, though.

The first time Penny said Tommy's name in his presence I seriously thought he was going to keel over. He went _white_. And then he turned red, and I could've sworn he was going to rip my head clean off of my body. The earliest opportunity he got to pull me aside and chastise me like a naughty child, he took. I let him rant it out of his system, because I figured I owed him that much and it wasn't anything I hadn't already heard a dozen times before. I'm irresponsible, I'm stupid, I'm selfish, and if I'm not careful, I'm going to ruin _everything_. I know he's probably right about all of the above, but no way was I going to tell _him_ that.

Zac's reaction to it all was... well... he didn't really have one, to be honest. He really hasn't said much of anything when it comes to that particular subject. I guess he was serious when he said that my relationship with Tommy is none of his business, because he hasn't mentioned him even once since my extended layover in Los Angeles the other month. I honestly don't know how he's feeling about it anymore. Either he's keeping it all in and will inevitably blow up at me in the very near future, or he's just... over it. The former seems more likely than the latter, but part of me can't help wondering if maybe he really has let go of all of the resentment and bitterness he was harboring towards me.

Maybe, somehow, we really are okay now.

"Hey." I look up from my table in the almost empty hotel bar to find Zac standing over me. Speak of the devil. He smiles hopefully as our eyes meet, but I can see the concern written all over his face. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go for it."

He pulls out the chair opposite mine and lowers himself onto it, silently taking in our surroundings for a moment before his gaze falls to the shot glass full of tequila that I've been staring down for almost an hour now. My eyes follow his, focusing on the golden liquid in the tiny glass until it's all I can see.

"Are you gonna drink that or are you waiting for it to sprout legs and do a little dance?"

I laugh softly, turning it slowly between my thumb and middle finger, watching as the tequila laps at the edge and threatens to trickle down the side. "I'm gonna drink it... eventually."

"Eventually?"

"I told myself I'd only have one more. So if I drink it... I have no excuse."

The confusion is written all over his face when I finally look up at him again, but it gradually dawns on him why I need an excuse. Why I'm reluctant to go back up to my hotel room. He nods sympathetically, or as sympathetically as he can for a man who is happily married and completely in love with his wife.

"You okay?"

No. "Yeah, why?"

He shrugs a little, still watching me closely. "You've just haven't been very... present lately, I guess."

"What're you talking about?" I frown at him. "I haven't missed anything, I haven't even been late-"

"No, I don't mean like... _physically_ present. I know you're here, but it's like you're really somewhere else, you know?" I do know. And he's right, I _am_ somewhere else. I try not to let my mind drift from the here and now, but I can't seem to stop it from wandering. Especially these last couple of weeks. "Look..." He takes a long, tired breath and I find myself automatically holding mine, dreading whatever it is he's about to say. "I know we don't talk about it, because it's easier to just pretend like it never happened-"

"Zac-"

"No, let me finish." He insists calmly, making it obvious that this is something he's been wanting to get off of his chest for a while. "We _had_ something. We did. And yeah, okay, it was messed up and shouldn't have ever happened, and it probably would have been better for both of us if it never had, but... we can't change it now. And... I'm glad."

"You are?" I ask in surprise, taken aback by the quiet smile on his face as he nods.

"I'm not glad it ended the way it did. In fact, I kinda hate myself for it-"

"Why? I thought you hated _me_ ; it was _my_ fault, I cheated-"

He shakes his head a little. "It was over _way_ before that, like you said. I just... didn't want to let go. I didn't want to let _you_ go. It's like... there's this part of me that has always been and probably will always be thirteen-years-old and _completely_ infatuated when it comes to you. It's like this immature, selfish, jealous little _brat_ of a voice in my head that's constantly thinking 'mine, mine, _mine_ '. Even when I knew it was better for both of us to just let it be over, even when I didn't really _want_ what we had anymore... that thirteen -year-old spoiled brat would _not_ give you up. _Especially_ not to anyone else."

"So basically, you didn't want me but you didn't want anyone else to have me?"

"I guess. But it wasn't _all_ of me that felt that way, Tay. It was just that one part. And I know it took over and made a mess of everything, but... I want you to know that, underneath all of the crazy-jealous stupidity, I really did want to let you go. I loved you, and I _wanted_ you to be happy, even if it wasn't with me. I just... didn't know how to let it happen."

To say that this confession comes as a surprise to me would be understating it. For almost a year now, I've been living under the assumption that _I_ broke _his_ heart, that he wasn't ready for us to be over, and that he would rather I was miserable and alone than with Tommy or anyone else. But what he's saying _does_ make sense. I felt it. Before we broke up, I _felt_ like a possession, something he didn't really want anymore but that he wasn't willing to give up under _any_ circumstances. And then after we broke up, I still didn't feel that he truly wanted me or even missed me all that much. He was just pissed off that _I_ chose to leave _him_ , and that someone else had me.

But it doesn't erase my share of the blame for all of this. Not even close. He may be at fault for the way he handled the end of our relationship, but I will always, _always_ be the one at fault for allowing it to start in the first place, and for never having the strength to truly walk away from it until I met Tommy.

"You were right, you know that?" I admit sadly, my eyes drifting from my shot glass to his face once again. "At Fools Banquet, when you said that I couldn't stand to be alone... you were right."

"I didn't mean it like that, though." He sighs regretfully. "At the time I did, but only because I was mad at you."

"It doesn't make it any less true. I _did_ stay in our relationship because I didn't want to be alone. When whatever it was that we had changed, when I didn't feel the same way about you anymore... I still couldn't bring myself to let you go. Not because I wanted you, but because I wanted... someone. Being with you kept me _sane_ ; it was the only way I felt even slightly like myself most days. But it wasn't fair to either of us. And even though it wasn't intentional... I think part of me _was_ waiting for something 'better' to come along. I wasn't _consciously_ thinking that, I never even thought it was an option, but-"

"It's okay... I get it. I think on some level I kinda always knew that I wasn't really what you wanted. I was just the closest you thought you'd ever get to it."

"But you _were_ what I really wanted. At one point, at least. I _did_ love you, Zac."

"I know you did. And I loved you, too. That's _why_ I don't regret it." I seriously think I might burst into tears right here, right now. It's not like anyone is really around to see, it's just the two of us and the bartender. I wasn't prepared for this at all tonight. I don't think I was prepared for it to _ever_ happen. "You taught me what love was, you know that?"

"I wish I'd done a better job."

He smiles fondly, nudging my foot with his under the table. "You did okay for an amateur."

"I'm _so_ sorry, Zac. For _everything_."

"Me too."

Is this really it...?

Was that _the_ talk?

Over a decade of lust, love, secrets, lies, and heartache resolved by a couple of months of awkward silence and a ten minute heart-to-heart in a bar. It's all been so difficult, so complicated... but tonight, for the first time in years, it seems unfathomably simple. We were born brothers, we became best friends, we fell in love before we were even old enough to understand what it truly meant, and as a result, we hurt one another over and over without ever meaning or wanting to, until we almost lost one another completely.

And now, here we are again. Right back where we began.

There's a strange comfort in knowing that neither of us will ever let history repeat itself. We'll never have to go through this again.

It's over.

We're both free.

"All that being said," He continues after we've both taken a moment to enjoy the _complete_ lack of tension between us for the first time since we were teenagers. "I think I have the right to claim to know you better than anyone else on the planet. Or I _knew_ you better than anyone else, at least, once upon a time."

"You're still pretty high up there."

"So I know when something's on your mind, and something has _definitely_ been on your mind ever since we left L.A. You've been... elsewhere. It feels like you're getting further and further away all the time." I don't confirm his suspicions, but the fact that I can't look him in the eyes anymore is all the answer he seems to need anyway. "You don't have to tell me what's going on, but... should I be worried?"

"About me?"

"About you..." He gives a sole nod, drawing in a long, steadying breath as he prepares himself for the arrival of some unidentified disaster. "About... everything."

"It's just..." How do I explain this? How do I even begin to put my thoughts into order and share them with him when I can't keep them straight myself most of the time? The only thing I can think of to say is the one thing that's been circling my mind for the past twenty -four hours now. "I've been married for nine years."

"Yeah..."

"That means Ez is going to be nine in a few months. I have a _nine-year-old_ _son_ , Zac. Can you believe that?" After staring at me for a moment, as though he's trying to figure out if it's some kind of trick question, he slowly shakes his head. "The time has just... disappeared. It went _so_ fast. And at the same time, it's felt like forever. Every day... it's been never-ending trying to be someone I'm not for so long."

"What're you saying?" He asks carefully, the hint of fear in his tone making it clear that he already has a vague idea and he's hoping against all odds that my answer will prove him wrong.

"If nothing changes... another nine years are gonna fly right out the window. Half my life will be _gone_ , and I'll have spent it living a lie." Hearing myself say the words out loud gives them so much more power than they had when they were confined to my head. They hit me that much harder, leaving me blinking back tears and struggling to find my voice. "I don't know how much longer I can do this. I'm _so_ tired of lying."

He's completely silent, possibly speechless. And all I can do is sit here while he tries to find the words to talk me down. I'm just waiting for him to figure out a way to make this seem less impossible than it feels, so that I'll go back up to my hotel room, and crawl into bed with my wife, and forget all of these silly notions of ever having or feeling something more.

"I know you are." He eventually concedes, leaving me staring at him in shock all over again. "You shouldn't have to lie. You _never_ should have."

"You don't think there's a point where it's too late to start telling the truth?"

"You mean like... a nine year wedding anniversary and four kids in?"

"Exactly."

He shakes his head, giving it another moment of thought before answering as honestly as he probably can. "I don't think it's ever too late to be honest. I think it gets harder the longer you leave it, but I don't think it's ever _completely_ impossible."

At this point, my vision is so blurry with unshed tears that I can't even make out his face anymore. I never thought that either of my brothers would tell me it was okay to _finally_ tell the truth. Because this truth of mine will change their lives irreversibly. But here he is, giving me permission to do whatever I need to do in order to be happy. Giving me his blessing to live my life the way _I_ want to for the very first time.

"Just... do me a favor, okay?" He asks, his voice wavering faintly under the overwhelming weight of the emotion that this moment holds. "Before you go doing anything life altering, give me a heads up first?"

"I promise." I manage to choke out weakly before my tears finally get the better of me and I'm left with my head in my hands, uselessly trying to hide the fact that I'm crying from him.

But just like when we were kids, he's right there beside me, trying to comfort me and help me find my way through the confusion of my own feelings. "It's gonna be okay. It'll work out, one way or another, it always does."

"But if I do this, it's not just my life that's gonna change, Zac. I don't want to ruin _your_ life, I _never_ wanted that."

"I know." He assures me in an almost whisper, squeezing my shoulder a little tighter. "I'll be okay, though. It's not the end of the world."

I wish I could believe that. I know he's trying so hard to convince me that it's true, but I'm not sure if he's even got himself fooled. If I do this, if I leave Natalie to be with Tommy... it's over. Our lives as we've always known them will be altered forever. There'll be no more Hanson, at least not in the same way that there's been a Hanson for the past twenty years. Everything is going to be different, and there's no way that won't affect him. I know it, and he knows it...

And yet, here he sits, telling me that it's _okay_.

He's aware of the consequences, he always has been, and he's willing to stand right alongside me and accept them if that's what it takes for _me_ to be happy.

I don't think we've loved one another so purely and unconditionally since the first time he kissed me.

The tequila shot that's been sitting on the table for the entirety of our conversation goes untouched; I don't need it anymore. What he gave me tonight was far stronger and more sustaining than that little glass of liquor. I only wish I had something to offer him in return besides the promise of _more_ misery and chaos. But I don't think I'll be in a position to offer anyone I love a life free of stress and pain until I'm free of it myself.

Until _I'm_ truly happy, I won't know how to make anyone else happy, either.

I've had it backwards my whole life. I thought that if I made everyone else happy, then I might find happiness myself. But it was all a lie. Any joy people found because of me came from a place of deceit. It was based on something that didn't even exist, and so it couldn't possibly last. Therefore, I couldn't possibly take any lasting satisfaction from it.

The life I've been living has been killing me slowly for years now, like an insidious disease spreading throughout my entire being. And there was a time when I didn't care. I let it eat away at me from the inside out because I didn't have the will to stop it.

I do now.

Before I return to my hotel room, I step out onto the sidewalk just outside the lobby and take a moment to breathe in the cool, night air. It's raining softly, but I barely feel the tiny drops of water as they land on the flushed skin of my face, washing away the lingering tear stains on my cheeks.

Acting on instinct, I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Tommy's number, holding it to my ear as I listen to it ring over the distant sound of car horns honking and taxi cabs rolling by. It takes him a little while to answer, and as soon as he does I feel a little better than before. Just the sound of his voice as he greets me with an easy "hey" is all it takes to bring a smile to my lips.

"Hi."                                                                                                          

"How come you're still awake? Isn't it kinda late there?" He asks in confusion, struggling to figure out the time difference the way he has every time we've talked since I got here.

"It is, but I needed to talk to you."

"Oh yeah? About what?"

"Nothing." I chuckle softly, my head as light as it probably would have been had I done that shot. "I just needed to talk to you."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I don't know. " He seems hesitant, like he's not even sure what it is that's making him worry. "You just sound kinda... different."

"I _feel_ different."

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

"No." I reply honestly, because really I'm not. "But I think I'm going to be."

"Okay, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but you're acting really fucking weird right now."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to." I smile, wishing he was here to see it because I'm sure it would help put his mind at ease more than my cryptic words seem to.

I want to tell him everything that's happened tonight. I want to tell him about my conversation with Zac, about the forgiveness we've granted one another and the weight that has been lifted from my shoulders because of it. I want to tell him about the realizations I came to while staring into that shot glass. I want to tell him that everything is going to change for us both soon.

But I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid that I'll wake up tomorrow morning and this sense of liberation and determination will be gone, like a good dream I couldn't cling to no matter how hard I tried.

I don't want to make him promises that I might not be able to keep.

"I'm fine, I promise. I just wanted to call and say goodnight."

"Goodnight, freak."

"I miss you."

He's smiling. I can hear it. That gentle breath he exhales as the corners of his mouth curl is one of my favorite sounds, even though it's barely perceptible.

"I miss you, too."

I want to tell him that I love him, but I don't want to wipe the smile off of his face mere seconds after putting it there. I just hope that, soon, I'll be able to say it without him thinking it's "pointless". Soon, I'll be able to _prove_ that it's the truth.

And then maybe, just maybe, he'll have enough faith in me to finally be able to say it back.

 


	61. Chapter 61

  


  


 

 

 

_ Tulsa, Oklahoma  - June 19th, 2011 _

_  
_

When I was nineteen years old, I woke up one morning and decided that it was the last time that I would _ever_ wake up. It had to be, because waking up every day and forcing myself to get out of bed and face the world, face my own life, was too painful.

I _couldn't_ do it anymore.

I couldn't spend another day talking about wedding plans; roses versus lilies, butter cream versus fondant versus ganache, gold borders on the invitations or silver? I just did _not_ care. But I had to pretend to care, because if I didn't do a good enough job of showing enthusiasm over every last detail it hurt Natalie's feelings. Which made me feel guilty, as if I wasn't already drowning in an endless sea of it.

And on top of all that, I had the record label crap to deal with. Trying to write songs to please a bunch of asshole suits who didn't even know what they were talking about, and only cared about making money, was sucking every last shred of passion from my soul. Music was the one thing left in my life that made it worth living, and it felt as though Jeff Fenster and all of his drones at Island Def Jam were trying to take it from me. I'd been holding on so tightly, for months and months I'd fought against it, telling myself that the next song we wrote would change his mind. But it didn't. We went through song after song after song, and every time he came back with the same "not a hit" bullshit. We were being rejected on a daily basis by a guy whose opinion we never would have cared about if some record label holding the purse strings wasn't forcing us to.

It wasn't fun anymore, it didn't feel right anymore, and I didn't have the strength to withstand it anymore.

I was _done_.

I didn't want my life to be about fighting, and pretending, and compromising who I was and what I loved. I was too young to have already spent so much of my life lying.

And the only way I could think of to end it all _was_ to end it all.

The second I made the decision, I was overcome by a sense of total calm. Rather than staring down a long, dark tunnel that I was sure I'd never get to leave, I saw a light. I saw a way out. It was so easy not to let anything get to me anymore when I knew that it was almost over. I didn't want to waste my last day on Earth, I wanted to make the most of it. I wanted to make music for myself and no one else, I wanted to listen to my favorite songs, eat my favorite foods, spend time with the people I loved, and appreciate it all in a way I hadn't been able to before.

Except that, obviously, it _wasn't_ my last day on Earth.

My days had become so monotonous, and time had lost so much of its meaning for me, it had slipped my mind that Natalie had a doctor's appointment that day. She'd made me swear up and down and left and right that I would be right there holding her hand throughout, and I wasn't about to break that promise. Not when there were so many others I didn't plan to keep. But it wasn't just any appointment. It was the first time I would ever see my son. The first time I would ever hear his heartbeat. And once I'd heard it I couldn't get it out of my head, it was _all_ I could hear.

All I could think was: am I really going to take my life before his even begins?

I couldn't stand the idea of never seeing his face, never feeling that tiny little heart of his beating against my chest as I rocked him to sleep, never hearing his laugh, or knowing who he would grow up to be. Even though part of me honestly believed that he'd be better off without me in his life, I just couldn't bring myself to go through with it.

So I stayed.

The feeling I've had for the past few days is eerily similar to the feeling I had when I woke up that morning. I've gone as far as I can go, I'm standing at the edge and I have to decide whether to jump or spend the rest of my life standing here, wishing I had the courage to take that leap.

Only this time, I'm not looking for an ending. I'm _longing_ for a new beginning.

I've been putting it off and putting it off, not because I don't want to go through with it, or because I'm afraid (I am, though), but because I felt I owed it to my family to wait until the time was right. Except that I've come to realize that the time will _never_ be right. There will always been a reason to postpone this for a day or two longer. A birthday, a holiday, the desire not to hurt the feelings of the people I love. If I keep putting everyone else's needs before my own, I'm going to end up doing this for another decade. And then another, and another, and another...

Tonight is as good (or bad) a time as any.

Tonight, I'm going to do something I should have done years ago.

"Honey, have you seen my jacket?" Nat calls down the hall to me as I help River to tie his shoes.

"Which one?"

"The denim one."

"Did you check the hall closet?" I reply distractedly, trying not to lose my grip on the laces while he kicks his feet around in the most unhelpful way possible. "Hold still, dude."

"Do we _have_ to go?" He sighs grudgingly. "I wanna stay here."

"No you don't, you love going to Grandma and Grandpa's."

"But I wanna play with my train!"

"You can play with your train tomorrow." I remind him patiently. Having had this conversation dozens of times before, I know exactly what to say to make him stop whining and get in the car. "Your cousins are all gonna be there. You can show Shep and Everett some of those cool new drum beats we were playing the other day."

His face lights up instantly, just as I knew it would. "Can we play in the studio?"

"We'll see. Maybe after dinner, _if_ you're good."

"I'll be good, cross my heart!"

 "I still can't find it." Natalie laments wearily as she appears in the doorway of River's bedroom. "I don't know where I could've left it."

"Out in the car, maybe?" I suggest, picking River up off of the floor and placing him on his feet. "It'll turn up."

"I guess."

"We should get going or we're gonna be late."

A playful smile spreads across her face, completely transforming her previously frustrated expression. "I think they kind of expect it at this point, don't you?"

"Probably."

"You look nice." She tells me approvingly, snaking her arms around my waist as I try to slip past her into the hall. I feel myself tense instantly, but I can tell that she's not aware of it at all as I return the soft kiss she places on my lips.

It feels like such a lie. But then, that's nothing new.

"So do you."

"Come on, time to round up the Wild Things."

I summon the most genuine smile I can, gesturing for her to lead the way. "Let the wild rumpus begin."

I'm going to miss her.

I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's the God's honest truth. I've shared almost half of my life with her, we've created four incredible children together. She's supported me through some of the most difficult experiences I've ever had (even if our marriage counts as one of them), she's been nothing but giving, loving, understanding, and loyal to me. And I've _never_ been the kind of partner that she deserved. I was never one hundred percent faithful to her, even when I tried my hardest to be.

Even when I wasn't actually with someone else, I was always wishing that I was.

I just hope that, when all of this is over and everything has settled down into some semblance of normality, maybe she can finally find someone who will love her the way she should be loved, the way that she loves me. She's the kind of wife every other guy on the planet probably dreams of having, and she's already wasted too much of herself on me.

An hour later, after wrangling our kids into the car and making the trek out to my parents house, we pull into the driveway. This isn't the house I grew up in, we didn't move here until long after 'MMMBop' had already fallen from the charts, but I think it will always feel like home to me. I have so many memories here, both good and bad. This is where Zac first told me that he loved me, sitting out by the swimming pool on a hot August night. It's where the majority of the music I've made in my career was conceived and created. It's where we signed the papers that freed us from our torturous record label contract, and where we decided to go it alone and risk everything to stay true to our band and our beliefs. It's where Natalie and I spent our first few months as husband and wife, living in the pool house and pretending we were adult enough to handle everything we were about to face. It's where we learned how to be parents to our first child.

We've come here for Thanksgivings, Christmases, Fourth of Julys, and birthday's for years. Not to mention countless family dinners (which is why we're here now).

It seems as though our mom becomes more obsessed with things like family dinners the further afield her children venture from home. With all three of us married, one of our sisters engaged, the other out of state at school, and our younger brother well and truly wrapped up in college life, her nest is emptying fast. And even though she never tried to hold any of us back in the least, now that we're gone, she's constantly coaxing us home at every opportunity.

I think I'm almost as afraid of telling her the truth as I am of telling Natalie. I've never wanted to disappoint her, she's the single most amazing woman I've _ever_ known, and I always wanted to be the perfect son for her. But I'm not. No matter what I do, I never will be. I only hope that she can love who I really am as much as she's loved this facade. I'm afraid she'll never look at me the same way after tonight, though. I worked so hard my whole like to be everything I thought she wanted me to be, to make her proud of me...

Twenty-eight years of fighting to be the model son... and I'm about to undo it all.

Almost seems like the definition of crazy.

But her reaction isn't something I have to worry about facing tonight. There won't be any big announcements or goodbyes from me at this gathering. For all intents and purposes, this will be my final performance. I'll put on one last show, keep up the pretense for one more evening of 'happy families', and then take a bow.

For the next couple of hours, I'm nothing but the perfect husband, father, brother, son, and uncle. I watch some of _Tangled_ with the kids, help Mac figure out how to rework the piano on a song he's been writing, lend a hand in the kitchen while mom prepares dinner, and hang out with my siblings and their spouses (and soon-to-be spouses) in the game room. It's just like any other Hanson family gathering, and I almost feel bad for pretending that everything is normal. It might be the last time we're all together like this, the last time they see Natalie and I sitting in this over-sized, leather armchair together, her head on my shoulder and her legs draped comfortably over mine.

It seems sort of cruel to let them all believe nothing is wrong. There's no warning sign, no build up, nothing to make anyone suspect that everything is about to change.

I'm the _only_ one who knows.

Well, maybe not the only one.

Ever since our late night talk in London, Zac has been understandably anxious. I basically admitted that it was only a matter of time before I finally up and left, but I couldn't tell him when. I could only promise to let him know before it happened. And now it feels like every time we see each other he gives me this look, an unspoken question. And each time I smile at him, silently answering it and putting his mind at ease. For one more day, at least. But when he looks at me across the table at dinner, and our eyes lock, there's no smile on my lips. And I see the realization slowly creeping up on him; this is it.

Tonight's the night.

"Can we get everyone's attention?" Mom calls out to us all from the other end of the table. "Your father and I have something we need to talk about."

"No more babies!" Mac exclaims dramatically, earning soft chuckles of amusement from almost everyone present.

"No." Dad rolls his eyes and smiles. "No more babies."

"But that does lead nicely into what we want to discuss."

"What do you mean?" Isaac frowns uncertainly as his eyes drift back and forth between our parents. "What's going on?"

"Well..." Begins Mom slowly, taking a deep breath to prepare herself. I think everyone at the table does the same thing. I'm really not looking forward to whatever she's about to say. "Obviously, you boys are all grown up now, with families of your own, and Jess and Joe will be moving in together after the wedding this summer, and with Avie off in New York and Mac in college... this house is just far too big for me, dad, and Zoe."

"What're you trying to say?" Jess asks hesitantly, though I think she already knows.

I think we all do.

"They're moving." Mac informs us all before Mom or Dad can even open their mouths.

"You're selling the house?" Asks Nat sorrowfully. "That's so sad!"

"I know." Kate agrees with a heavy sigh. "I love this place, it's going to be _so_ strange not to come here for family stuff anymore."

"Yeah, but what about the studio?" Asks Zac worriedly, looking to me and Ike for backup. I don't want to just sit here and act as though I don't care, but I'd feel like an ass kicking up a fuss when I'm not even sure we'll have any use for a studio soon. "I know it's on your land and everything, but _we_ paid for it."

"Yeah, we had that thing _custom_ built." Ike protests huffily. "It's _our_ studio."

"Obviously, we don't want to sell it out from under you guys." Dad explains calmly, clearly having expected this exact reaction. "And if one of you wants the house, we'd be more than happy to discuss that. But for the most part the studio can be relocated. I know it's not the same, and it's a hassle, but you can take practically _everything_ except the walls to a new space."

"We're sorry, guys, we just don't need this much house any more. Not to mention all of the land and the upkeep... it's too much for us. It was one thing when we still had four kids living at home, but soon we'll only have one. It doesn't make any sense to hold on to this place when it's just the three of us."

So that's it, then.

The studio that we had designed and built when I was just fifteen years old is going to be taken apart piece by piece. It seems almost fitting, in a really morbid kind of way. Apparently tonight is a night for change, and I'm not the only one looking to move on.

The rest of dinner is a little more subdued. I think everyone is too busy considering what this all means for them to really make conversation. I can tell Ike and Zac are concerned about having to find a new studio space, and our wives are probably wondering who's going to have to assume responsibility for hosting all of the family events from now on. Under normal circumstances, it would probably fall to Nat and I, since our house is the largest and she's more inclined towards playing the role of hostess than Kate or Nikki. But circumstances _aren't_ normal, or they won't be after tonight.

I don't see us hosting anything together any time soon.

Once dessert is done and all of the dishes have been cleared from the table, most of the family retires back to the game room with all of the now very sleepy youngsters. But when I make a move to join them, I feel a hand grasp me by the elbow and hold me back. I'm not really all that surprised to see Zac when I turn around; I figured he'd at least want verbal confirmation of the meaning behind that look we shared earlier.

"Are you really gonna do it?" He asks quietly as soon as everyone else is out of earshot. "You're actually gonna leave her?"

"I have to. I can't keep putting it off, it's just making it worse."

"When are you gonna tell her?"

"Tonight, I think." I sigh tiredly, emotionally drained by the mere thought of it. "Once the kids are asleep, I'm gonna talk to her."

"Do you know what you're going to say?" Honestly, I have no idea. You'd think that, after all this time, I'd have _some_ clue of how to break this to her. But I _really_ don't. "Are you gonna tell her about... him?"

"Not if I can help it." I admit ruefully, certain that he'll think I'm completely spineless for choosing to keep my affair with Tommy to myself. "I just... I figure it's gonna be bad enough telling her it's over, if I tell her I'm leaving her for someone else it'll only hurt her more."

"Yeah..." He seems to think about it for a moment, staring off into the game room at our gathered family as he slowly shakes his head. "So I guess I should try to act surprised when Kate gets a hysterical late-night phone call, huh?"

"I guess."

God, I _hate_ that this is going to affect so many people. I don't want to hurt Natalie, and I _definitely_ don't want to hurt my children, but it doesn't even stop there. It spreads and spreads, like the ripples caused by a rock carelessly tossed into a calm pool of water.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Zac."

"I know." He tries to smile in an attempt to make me feel better, but he's not even slightly successful. "I just can't believe it's actually happening."

"Me either."

"Can't believe what's happening?" Ike interrupts, causing us both to jump a little at the intrusion.

"Just the whole house thing." Zac replies quickly and convincingly.

We both have years of practice under our belts when it comes to lying to our big brother, but Zac has always been much better at thinking on his feet than I am. He can take the most inappropriate looking situations and think up explanations for them that make them seem totally innocent, leaving people feeling like idiots for ever momentarily suspecting that something abnormal might be going on.

Ike rolls his eyes and shakes his head in annoyance. "Can you believe it? It's like the end of an era!"

"Yeah..." He has no idea how right he is about that. "A lot's gonna change soon."

"I just don't get _how_ they can sell this place."

"Well..." I begin hesitantly, knowing full well that Ike is immune to all forms of logic when he's ticked off. But knowing that never seems to prevent me from trying to reason with him anyway, which is why we end up butting heads so often. At least, it was until Tommy came along. "It kinda makes sense. I mean, they don't need six bedrooms and a pool house on over one hundred acres of land when there are only gonna be three of them living here soon."

"But it's our _home_!"

"No, it's _their_ home." Zac points out, which will only serve to irritate Ike more because he hates it when we side against him. "We all moved out and got places of our own _years_ ago, Ike. Things can't stay the same forever just so we don't have to deal with letting go. If they don't wanna be here anymore, we can't force them to stay..." The sideways glance he casts my way as he speaks doesn't go unnoticed by me. But thankfully Ike seems oblivious to it. "Sometimes you have to respect the choices of the people you love, even if you don't necessarily like the end result. If it makes them happy, _that's_ what matters."

"Whatever, it still sucks."

"Yeah, well... that's life."

No matter how much has changed between us, I don't think the most basic things ever will. Because here we stand, the pessimist, the realist... and I guess I must still be the optimist of the group. How else could I believe that it's possible for me to end my 'perfect' marriage and basically start my life over as an openly gay man without losing _everything_ I've spent my life working for?

At the sound of Junia's crying, Zac excuses himself and heads off to find his daughter, leaving Ike and I alone together, staring into the game room at our family. I've been so mad at him for weeks, _months_ , I barely even want to be in the same room as him most days unless it's band related. But right now it's just... gone. I'm not mad anymore, I'm just sad. Sad and sorry that I could never really make him understand how I felt. Maybe I never tried hard enough. Maybe he never would have understood no matter what I said or did.

Maybe he never will.

"Hey, Ike..."

"Yeah?"

"I know things have been kinda..." How do I put this delicately? "Shitty between us for a while now." He noticeably tenses, apparently unprepared for me to broach this subject with him right now. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"Seriously?" His eyebrows peak in surprise and skepticism.

"Yeah. I know how much it's been weighing on you ever since you walked in on me and Tommy last year. And I know I never handled it the way I should have... I was reckless and selfish, and I'm sorry."

"Does that mean you're done being reckless and selfish?"

Reckless? Yes, in a way. Selfish? No, not at all. "Ike-"

"Then save it, Tay. Because your 'sorry' doesn't mean shit if you're still not willing to do anything about it." He snaps bitterly. "It's just a word, and I'm sick of hearing it from you."

I suppose it was foolish of me to hope that we might be capable of having some kind of miraculous reconciliation tonight just because I would feel better if we could part on more civilized terms. Not that we're "parting", this isn't the last time I'll ever see him. But I doubt he's going to be any happier with me after this than he is now. I just wish I could make him understand, I wish he could truly see me in the same way that Zac can. I wish he could understand how fucking unhappy I am and want something better for me instead of wanting me to keep pretending for the sake of the band and our reputation. I understand that our careers are important to him, and it's hard for him to sympathize with me when he married the girl of his dreams and is so in love that he can't stop telling everyone how fucking perfect she is. I don't want to take anything away from him, but... _I_ want to be happy, too.

I hope one day he'll forgive me for that.

As the evening winds down and we all start to say our goodbyes at the door, I find myself hugging my mom so tightly that it leaves her laughing a little. She bemusedly asks me if I'm okay, and I do my best to smile and pretend everything it completely normal when I assure her that I'm fine. But really, I'm not. I'm afraid that she'll never hug me that way again.

The drive home from my parent's house is mostly quiet, except for the soft sounds of Ezra's Nintendo DS coming from the back of the car. River and Viggo are already asleep, and Penny is barely holding on to consciousness. At least getting them all to bed tonight won't require a huge "us against them" battle of wills. I don't have the energy to chase them around for an hour, and any energy I do have I need to save for my conversation with Natalie. Just as that thought crosses my mind, she reaches over the gearshift and her delicate fingers caress my thigh for a moment before her hand finds mine and laces our fingers together. The way she always does when I'm driving.

"It's so weird that your folks are selling the house."

"Yeah... it's definitely a curve ball."

"Maybe we should buy it?" Her tone is light, as if to suggest that she's only joking. But I know some part of her is completely serious. "It _does_ have a lot more room than our place, and hopefully we'll be needing that extra bedroom soon..."

What am I supposed to say here? I don't want to agree, because it would be like leading her on now only to break her heart in a matter of hours. But I don't want to dismiss the idea when I know she's already picturing how this year's Thanksgiving center piece is going to look in our new dining room and planning where to put the Christmas tree. Is it worse to make her mad at me right before I end our marriage, or let her think everything is fine right up until the moment I tell her it's not?

"I don't know. I mean, I love that house, but it's not really our taste."

"True..." She sighs, and I let myself relax a little as I stupidly believe I've managed to talk her out of it. "But we could always change things around until it is. I think it'd be fun to kind of start from scratch, you know? We could make it our dream house together. Your parents never really did a whole lot to it, it's a blank canvas just waiting for someone to move in and give it some personality!"

God, _how_ do I get myself into these situations?

And more importantly, how the hell am I supposed to get myself _out_?!

"Yeah... but it's nowhere near Ez and Penny's school." I point out, trying my hardest to sound disappointed by the fact. "It's like a forty minute drive."

"There _are_ other schools, sweetie."

"I know, but they're happy where they are. They've made friends and they like their teachers. I don't wanna uproot them if we don't have to."

"I guess."

I hate hearing the defeat in her voice and knowing that it's there because of me. I don't _want_ to take anything away from her, but I feel like I have nothing left to give. I can't make her any more promises that I'm incapable of keeping, it's even worse than refusing to promise her anything at all.

At least, that's what I'm telling myself in order to get through this.

Once we get home, we unload our semi-conscious kids from the car and carry half of them into the house. As I predicted, getting them all ready for bed and tucked safely beneath their sheets is almost entirely painless. In fact, the only painful part of it all is having to look down at their innocent little faces, kiss their foreheads as they murmur drowsy goodnights to me, and know that I won't be here when they wake up in the morning. I won't get to say goodbye. I can't explain that I'm leaving or why...

This is hands down the hardest thing that I have _ever_ had to do.

Blinking back the tears as I watch them drift off to sleep is nearly impossible. I feel like the worst father in the world right now. I'm selfish, irresponsible, maybe even cruel. I'm about to alter their lives completely, everything they know is going to be different tomorrow. By making this choice, I might be changing their futures in ways I don't even want to imagine. This could hurt them in ways that I can't foresee and can never repair. And knowing that is almost enough to keep me from going through with it.

Ezra is the last one to bed, as always, and he's much less sleepy than his younger siblings when I sit on the side of his bed and pull the comforter up over his chest. He gazes up at me, studying my face, and the resemblance I see in him to myself at his age strikes me harder than ever. It really is like looking into some strange mirror that allows me to see myself as I was twenty years ago. Except for those eyes.

He has her eyes and my everything else.

"Are you sad, daddy?" He frowns worriedly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You look sad."

I try to smile, to prove that I'm okay. But it's too little, too late. "I'm okay."

"What's the matter?"

"I just..." The tears begin gathering again, and I lower my eyes to the action heroes on his bed sheets so that he won't see them. "I think I'm going to have to go away for a while soon, and I'm gonna miss you _a lot_."

"I'll miss you, too." He sighs despondently. "Are you going on tour?"

"No, not this time."

The hopeful expression on his face when I finally force myself to look at him again rips right through my chest and shatters my heart. "Can I come? _Please_? I don't have school now 'cause of summer-"

"I don't know, buddy." I shake my head sadly, giving my voice a chance to steady itself before I speak again. "I don't know what's gonna happen just yet, but I promise that I'll see you again _as soon_ as I can, okay?"

"Pinky swear?"

He holds his little hand up, his fingers curled into a fist and his pinky extended out to me, waiting for a promise. Thankfully this is one promise I can make without feeling guilty, because I fully intend to see my kids again at the earliest opportunity.

I nod solemnly as I wrap my pinky finger around his and squeeze. "Pinky swear."

After kissing him goodnight and turning off his bedroom light, I end up sitting out in the hallway beside his door, listening to the muted sound of water running while Natalie takes a shower a few rooms away. When I insisted that she relax while I got the kids ready for bed, she thought I was being sweet. But as usual, nothing I do is selfless. I wanted to be alone with them so that I could savor my last few moments with them before the bomb drops. I know this isn't the last time I'll ever see them, but somehow it feels like it may as well be. I meant it when I told Ezra that I don't know what's going to happen now. My gut is telling me that Natalie will fight for full custody, and part of me feels as though I owe it to her to let her have it, even if it does mean that I'll only get to see them when she decides to permit it. I'm almost entirely sure that she'll move back to Atlanta, and if I move to Los Angeles it means that they're going to grow up on the complete opposite side of the country.

I'm going to miss _so_ much of their lives...

I try my hardest to push that thought out of my mind, because dwelling on it makes it hard to even draw breath. But it's difficult to stop myself from coming back to it again and again. I'm going to miss Christmases, I'm going to need to be _invited_ to their birthday parties. I know how quickly their likes and dislikes change; one minute Penny has ' _Aladdin_ ' on twenty-four-seven and wants to be Princess Jasmine, the next she's obsessed with ' _Shrek 2_ ' and the Princess Jasmine costume she spent weeks _pleading_ with us to buy her has been banished to the back of the closet. It's hard enough to keep up with that stuff when I'm living under the same roof as them or talking to them on Skype every day.

If I'm three thousand miles away from them... I'm not even going to know my own children anymore.

"What are you doing down there?" Nat chuckles softly as she steps out into the hallway, drying her long, dark hair with a towel. There's a smile on her lips, but concern in her eyes. "Is everything okay?"

"I... we need to talk." I tell her quietly, forcing myself up off of the floor and pulling Ezra's bedroom door completely closed, even though I'm sure he's asleep by now.

"Okay..."

I can hear the apprehension in her tone. No one _ever_ says "we need to talk" because they have  good news to share, and I _never_ say "we need to talk" because I try my hardest never to have bad news to give her. I either behave myself so that there's nothing to talk about, or I hide things from her in the name of keeping her blissfully oblivious. But I can't do that anymore.

I never should have done it at all.

She follows me silently down to the kitchen, but the moment we get there her patience with me ends and her need to know what's going on takes over. "You're scaring me, Tay. Tell me what's wrong."

For a moment, all I can do is stare back at her across the island in the middle of the room. It's like a barrier between us. I can see the fear written all over her face, and I instinctively want to do whatever I have to in order to ease her mind. Normally that would mean lying to her, shrugging it all off just to settle her nerves, holding in my own pain to avoid causing her any.

I'm _so_ close to backing down.

I can feel my resolve starting to weaken as the panic and dread threaten to overwhelm me. I think back to the sleepy faces of my four children, the way their hair smelled as I kissed them goodnight, the way River's hand clutched mine until he was too sleepy to hold on any longer. I can feel a sob fighting its way up from my core, leaving a searing pain in my chest as I grip the cold granite of the countertop in front of me and squeeze my eyes shut.

I can't do this.

I _can't_!

"Taylor, _please_ -"

"I'm gay."

 

 

 


	62. Chapter 62

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be from Tommy's POV. I'm pretty sure there will be 66 chapters of this story, _maybe_ 67\. Either way, we're definitely in the home stretch now...

  


  


 

 

 

That wasn't what I meant to say.

_At all._

I wasn't going to say those words to her unless I absolutely had to, if I was backed into a corner and left with no other choice but to tell her the truth. What I _meant_ to say was that I wasn't happy, that I hadn't been happy for a very long time. And that, even though I loved her and the kids, and I didn't want to do anything to hurt them in any way, I needed to leave. I didn't want a divorce, I _needed_ a divorce.

If she then pressed me relentlessly for a damn good reason why I wasn't happy, why _she_ could never make me happy, I was going to tell her the truth about my sexual orientation.

I _wasn't_ going to lead with it!

But I couldn't get what I wanted to say to come out. The words just would _not_ come, no matter how hard I tried to force them. And when I opened my mouth to speak, I heard myself say "I'm gay".

It shocked me just as much as it's clearly shocked her.

"I don't understand..." She frowns in bewilderment, her eyes glued to my face, searching for some hint of amusement, some sign that this is a sick joke. "What do you mean... you're gay?"

I can't believe this is happening.

"I... I mean that... I'm _gay_." I repeat helplessly, lacking any other way to explain myself.

A soft, incredulous chuckle escapes her as the creases on her brow deepen even further. "Since _when_?"

"Since... always. My whole life."

She's still waiting for the punch line, I can see it written all over her face. She doesn't want to take me seriously, she thinks I'm pulling a ridiculously cruel prank on her and she's trying so hard not to fall for it.  But the longer we stand here, the longer I go without laughing and telling her I'm kidding, the more afraid she starts to look.

"I'm so sorry, Nat. I _never_ wanted to do this to you-"

"No." She shakes her head in defiance, folding her arms defensively across her chest in an effort to appear strong. "This isn't happening."

"Nat-"

" _No_." Her tone is firm, final, the way it is when she's telling one of our children that they can't have another cookie before dinner or stay up past their bedtime. "We're _married._ Wehave _four_ children! People don't just wake up one morning and decide that they're gay, Taylor, it doesn't work like that!"

"You're right, it doesn't, and that's not what happened. I didn't _decide_ this, I didn't choose to be gay-"

"You're _not_ gay!" She protests adamantly. " I _know_ you, Taylor, we've been together for ten years. We share the same bed, we've made a _family_ together! If you're gay, how come you've spent the last decade married to _me_ , kissing _me_ , making love to _me_?"

"Natalie-"

"You're _not_ gay!"

"Yes, I _am_." I insist, my heart breaking as I watch her shake her head in denial again. I can see her trying to hold on to her resolve, I can practically hear the "he's not gay" chant that's playing in her head, over and over and over... but deep down she knows the truth, and it's threatening to devastate her. "I never meant for this to happen. I _wanted_ to be straight, I _wanted_ to pretend for the rest of my life that I really was the person that you and everyone else thought I was... but I'm not, and I _can't_."

"Why now?"

"What do you-"

"Everything was just fine, _we_ were just fine, we were happy!" She argues, tears brimming in her eyes as her voice begins to tremble. "I don't understand where all this is coming from!"

What am I supposed to tell her? That is was easier to play it straight when I wasn't head over heels in love with another guy? That I can't fake being happy with her anymore now that I've felt what it's like to be _truly_ happy with someone else?

"I... I don't know what to say." I tell her softly, remorsefully, my own eyes filling with tears as I watch her weep in confusion and pain. "I know it seems like it's totally out of the blue, but it's not. It's just... I tried to live with it, but it's gotten more and more difficult the longer I've kept it inside. I can't do it anymore, Nat, it's _killing_ me. I don't want to lie anymore, not to you, not to my family, not to _myself_."

"This doesn't make _any_ sense! You're standing here in _our_ home, telling me that you're gay and that you've known it your whole life. Even though _you_ were the one who asked _me_ on our first date, and _you_ proposed to me-"

"You  were pregnant, I-"

"Because we had s _ex_!" She exclaims, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a harsh swipe of her hand. "If you're gay, _why_ did any of those things happen?! _You_ made them happen, Taylor, I _never_ forced you to do anything you didn't want to!"

"No, you didn't. But _I_ did." I admit ashamedly, pleading with her to understand. "I didn't _want_ to be gay."

"So you used me to try to make yourself straight, is that what you're saying?"

"No! I never used you, Nat. I _wanted_ to want you, you have _no_ idea how badly I wished I felt that way about you. And I _did_ love you, I still do... it's just not the same. It's not the kind of love it should be, the kind you deserve."

"Don't talk to me about what I deserve!" She snaps bitterly, the forlorn look on her face suddenly hardening into one of anger. "I sure as hell _don't_ deserve this!"

"No, you don't. And I _never_ wanted this to happen, I never meant for things to end up this way. I wanted you to be with someone who loved you, _that's_ why I broke up with you back then. I was trying to let you move on and be happy, I was trying to do the right thing-"

Her hand flies to her mouth, realization and disgust burning in her dark brown eyes. "Oh my God..."

"What?" I ask nervously, terrified of what conclusion she's just drawn from everything I've told her.

"It was him, wasn't it?" She accuses venomously. "He wasn't 'just a friend', you _left_ me for him!" I'm about to ask "who", but it hits me the second I open my mouth. And I don't even have a chance to deny her allegations before she continues. "I knew that when you started spending time with him again he was going to try to come between us, just like last time! I _knew_ it, I could _feel_ it!"

"That's _not_ -"

"And you kept telling me I was acting crazy! It was happening all over again, I could feel you pulling away from me. You weren't acting like yourself, first with that ridiculous tattoo, and then putting his feelings before mine! You looked me in the eyes and told me everything was fine, but this whole time you've been seeing him behind my back!"

"I haven't been seeing Alex, I _swear_!"

"Why should I believe _anything_ you tell me when you've been lying to me since the day I met you?!"She practically screams, picking up a dirty plate from beside the sink and hurling it across the room at me along with a furious "I hate you!"

Her words hit me square in the chest, the plate misses me by mere inches. As it shatters against the cupboard door behind me, it seems to cut right through the rapidly escalating emotions in the room. It's like a pause, an unmistakable exclamation point at the end of a very heated sentence. It reminds me to take a breath before saying anything more, and to tread carefully as I proceed down this one way path I've started on.

"Why would I lie?" I reason gently, sadly. "Natalie... after everything I've just told you, _why_ would I lie about that?"

"I don't know." She cries into her hands helplessly, sinking down against the cabinets behind her, her shoulders shaking with sobs of total and utter heartache. "I don't know why you're doing _any_ of this."

There's nothing I can say to make this any better. I knew this wasn't going to be easy in the least, but I had no idea that it was possible to feel _this_ heartless. I've just ripped her world apart in a matter of moments, taken everything she thought she knew and turned it upside down and inside out. There are no words I could possibly find to offer her any comfort or consolation for that.

But I _can't_ just stand here and do nothing, either.

I make my way cautiously across the kitchen towards her, but she doesn't seem to be aware that I've come any closer until I kneel on the floor beside her. And then, to my immense surprise, she clutches me to her desperately, burying her face in my shirt and grasping it tightly in her small hands as she weeps against my chest.

" _Please_ don't do this."

"Natalie-"

"We're a family, Taylor. You _can't_ just give up on us!" She begs hopelessly. "We _have_ to try."

"Try what?" I sigh. "I've _been_ trying for years, it's not working."

"We can get help."

"Help?"

"Counseling." She clarifies, pulling back to look me in the eyes. "You could talk to someone about the way you feel, we can fix it, people do it all the time-"

"I don't _need_ help, Nat. There's nothing to fix; this is who I am, and I can't change that."

"But it's not _right_."

I don't know how to respond to that.

I could argue with her, debate whether or not I'm going to hell, but I'm not going to be able to change her mind. She was raised to be a good Christian girl, she goes to church on Sundays, the only "immoral" thing she's ever done in her whole life is have pre-marital sex (and of course, that was my fault). She believes homosexuality is a sin, just like the rest of my family, and I doubt I'll ever be able to convince her or any of them otherwise.

"What am I supposed to tell the kids?" She asks in despair. " _How_ am I supposed to explain this to them?"

"You don't have to explain it. This is my decision, I should be the one to talk to them."

"But what're you going to tell them? What're you going to say when they ask you why you want to be with another man instead of their mom?"

"I... I don't know. I'll just... I'll tell them that I love them, and I love you... but I need to do what feels right for me."

With a disapproving shake of her head and an indignant breath of laughter, she pushes me away from her and wipes her eyes. "You are _not_ telling them that there is _anything_ right about this. You're not going to lie to them, I _won't_ let you."

"It's not a lie-"

"It's a _sin_! And if you think I'm going to let you expose them to that kind of lifestyle, you can think again. Unlike you, their wellbeing is the _most_ important thing in this world to me, and I won't let you put ideas in their heads that go against everything we've raised them to believe. I _won't_ let you hurt and confuse them like that."

"I would _never_ do anything to hurt them!"

"You're doing it right now, Taylor!" She cries inconsolably. "If you leave, it's going to ruin _everything_. Their lives are never going to be the same! You can talk all you want about being happy and doing what feels right, but at the end of the day all you're really doing is prioritizing your feelings over theirs. You care more about what you want than what they _need_!"

That's exactly what I used to think. It's why it took me so long to reach this point; I honestly believed that walking away was selfish, and that if I really loved my children I would stay no matter how miserable it made me.

But I don't feel that way anymore.

"I think that what they really need is a father who doesn't look in the mirror every morning and wish that he'd never been born." I admit quietly, swallowing hard around the immovable lump in my throat. "I think they need a father who knows what it is to be _truly_ happy, someone who isn't afraid to just be himself and be honest with the people he loves."

"What they need is a father who is _here_ for them, not running around chasing after other men."

"I can't stay, Natalie, I _can't_ do this anymore-"

"Then leave." If it wasn't for the fact that I can still see the tears in her eyes and the hurt expression on her face, I would assume she didn't even care. Her words sound so callous and cold, I've never seen her like this before. "It's what you do best anyway."

I watch, numb and speechless, as she pushes herself off of the cold, tile floor of the kitchen and storms out. But the heart-wrenching sobs that she tries in vain to stifle contradict her angry exit. And then there's silence... and I'm alone.

It's over.

It feels completely surreal, like a dream or something. I feel detached, almost as though I'm nothing more than a ghost haunting the house that used to be my home. I'm convinced that if I try to reach out and touch anything around me right now, my hand will simply pass through it. I don't belong here anymore.

I guess I never really did.

I force myself up off of the floor on unsteady legs, gripping the countertop for a moment to steady myself before I dazedly make my way through the house. I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing, I just feel the need to move, to finish what I started. I can't be here.

Somehow I end up back in my car, the keys in the ignition but the engine dormant while I stare down at the steering wheel and try to gather my chaotic thoughts enough to figure out my next step. I hadn't planned this part; I couldn't when I had no idea how things would play out. I didn't know if I'd be able to go through with it, or if it would take hours of crying and screaming and pleading to get to this point. It all happened so fast... I don't know if that's better or worse.

All I really know is that I just closed the door on one part of my life and opened the door to another.

The only thing left to do is walk through it.

Turning the key in the ignition, I back the car down the dark driveway, casting one last look at the deceptively peaceful house in front of me before pulling out onto the street. As I drive, I fish my cell phone out of my pocket and call the one person I want to talk to right now. But he doesn't pick up. I try again, but there's still no answer, and when it eventually rings through to his voicemail I don't know what to say. I can't tell him any of what's just happened in a phone message. Hell, I don't even know if I can do it over the phone. I want to see him, I want to be with him.

He's the one who gave me the strength to _finally_ do this, and I need him now more than I ever have.

It takes me twenty minutes to get to the airport and find parking. I don't even realize that I have no luggage until I turn off the engine and start to exit the car. I never thought to pack. I have _nothing_. But it just doesn't matter right now. I don't care if I have a change of clothes for tomorrow, or even a tooth brush. I don't have the emotional energy left to worry about things like that, they're _so_ insignificant. I just want to get on a plane to Los Angeles. I want to see Tommy's face, because when I do I'll _know_ that everything is going to be alright.

Once I'm inside the main terminal I check the departures board to find the next flight leaving for L.A., and when I see that it's the last flight of the day, and it's scheduled to start boarding in less than twenty minutes, I run like mad past all of the check-in counters until I reach the one for the airline I need. The ticketing agent looks very surprised by my request for such a last minute, one-way flight, and more than a little confused and concerned by my lack of baggage. But it's not her job to judge, so she warily takes my credit card and driver's license, and prints me a boarding pass. The TSA agents at security, on the other hand, aren't quite as agreeable. I'm forced to go through all three different screening methods at their disposal until they're satisfied that I'm not getting on this plane just to blow it up. But at this point I really don't care; they can cavity search me if it'll make them feel better, just so long as they let me on that flight!

After I finally make it to the gate, I have just enough time to call Tommy before I have to board. But he's _still_ not picking up. It's not like he answers _every_ time I call him; he has a life of his own and it's not uncommon for him to be busy. But I would really, _really_ like to hear his voice right now, just for a second, just to have him tell me that it's all going to be okay. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like I'm going to be granted that reassurance before my flight takes off. I'm just going to have to keep reminding myself that I'll be with him before the sun rises tomorrow morning.

I'll be _home_.

Even though it's a non-stop flight, and it only lasts three hours, it feels like twice as long. I don't think I have _ever_ been so restless during a flight before. Everyone around me is trying to sleep, or has their headphones on and is watching the in-flight movie. But I can't do either. I'm wide awake and way too anxious to focus on anything for more than five minutes without my mind wandering to the question of "what next?"

What happens now?

Do I move to Los Angeles? Should I move in with Tommy if he wants me to, or should I get a place of my own? What will I do for work? Do I have what it takes to go solo? Do I even _want_ to go solo? When will I see my kids again, and how often? How do I convince Natalie not to take them away from me or demand that I keep them away from Tommy whenever they're in my care? What will I tell them when they ask me why I did this? How are my family going to react when they find out what I've done? Will any of them ever forgive me?

Or will I lose them all because of this choice I've made?

It's just after midnight when the flight arrives at LAX, and I'm probably the first person on the plane to switch their phone back on the second the wheels touch tarmac. But there are no missed calls or voice mails or texts from Tommy. I'm really trying not to read too much into this, even though there is a voice in the back of my head telling me that it's some kind of sign. I know it's ridiculous to think that way; just because he hasn't answered his phone or returned my calls, that doesn't mean he's avoiding me or that he's not going to be happy to hear that we can finally, truly be together.

At least... I hope not.

I don't bother trying to call him, because honestly I don't think I can handle hearing his voicemail message _again_ right now. I haven't felt this alone and afraid in years, possibly ever. Not being able to talk to him is just making it worse. I need to get to his apartment, see him face-to-face, and know that he's going to be there for me. Then maybe I can stop freaking out over nothing.

 By the time I've rented a car and driven out to Burbank, it's almost one o'clock in the morning. I notice his car parked close by as I pull up outside of his apartment building, and it makes my stomach churn as the paranoia returns. The voice in my head starts asking me why he wasn't answering his phone if he's home. I pathetically try to tell it that maybe he was just busy, or maybe he's not actually home and someone else gave him a ride to wherever it is that he's gone. But my arguments aren't doing much to settle my nerves, and I can't help panicking a little...

Until I'm halfway to his door and my phone starts to buzz with an incoming call from him.

I know it's stupid to answer it when I'm (hopefully) going to be seeing him in less than a minute. But I'm desperate enough to hear his voice that I do it anyway. "Hey."

"Hey." He sounds surprised, like _I_ called _him_ and not the other way around. "I was just gonna leave a message, I didn't think you'd still be awake."

Right. Because it's three am in Tulsa. But I'm not _in_ Tulsa. "I'm definitely awake."

"Sorry it took me so long to call back. I was at band practice until late and then hanging out with Isaac and Ravi, and I left my damn phone at home.  I only just got in and saw that you'd called a bunch of times. I promise I wasn't avoiding you."

He knows me too well.

"It's okay. I kinda don't wanna talk on the phone right now anyway." I tell him as I come to a stop outside of his apartment and raise my hand to knock.

"Okay..." He replies in confusion. "So do you like... want me to call you back tomorrow?"

"No, I need to talk to you, I just don't want to do it like this. I need to see you."

"Yeah, I wish." He snorts in amusement as my knock echoes on the other end of the line. It's only a moment later that I hear the sound of him turning the deadbolt on the door in front of me, and when he pulls it open his jaw drops in disbelief. "That was fucking fast."

"Hi."

"Hi..." We stare at each other for a moment, both of us taking the brief time we need to try to accept that this is happening. Eventually he shakes his head in an attempt to dispel the shock, laughing softly as he puts his phone away and holds the door open to invite me in. "What're you doing here?"

Where do I even begin? I guess the truth is a good place; it's where I've spent most of the night already. I just don't quite know how to put it into words, to say it out loud. I know it happened, but actually _saying_ it, actually telling another person what I've done is going to make it so much more real.

"I told Natalie."

He frowns uncertainly, closing the door behind us and turning to give me his full attention. "Told her what?"

"That I'm gay." His eyes widen immediately, and if the memory of that moment hadn't just hit me with the force of a wrecking ball, I might find his stunned expression humorous. "I told her I can't do it anymore, I can't keep lying about who I am and how I feel. I left her."

"Holy fuck... are you _serious_?!"

I nod dumbly, apparently just as surprised by my actions as he is. "She wanted me to get help, but I said no. So she told me to leave... and I did."

"Shit..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to come here and just dump all of this on you, but I didn't know where else to go. I didn't _want_ to go anywhere else. And I know I should have warned you about all this, I should have told you I was going to leave her before I did it, but I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to go through with it. I didn't want to get your hopes up and then let you down _again_." He nods understandingly but still doesn't say a word. He doesn't seem to know _what_ to say. "But it's done now. It's over."

"But..." He exhales a long, unsteady breath, his eyes finally meeting mine. "What does that mean? What about your kids, and the band, and... _everything_?"

"I don't know." I reply honestly, feeling awful for not having any answers to offer him. You'd think that I'd have it all figured out by now, but I don't. At all. "I don't know what's gonna happen now. I just... I couldn't stay there, Tommy. I couldn't keep living that life, not now, not when every last fucking part of me wants to be here with you _every_ second of _every_ day."

 "This isn't happening." I frown as he runs a hand through his hair and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, as though he's trying to make me and this entire moment disappear with the power of his mind. "I went to band practice, I had too much to drink, I came home, I passed the fuck out... and this _isn't_ happening."

Fuck.

This is _not_ the reaction I was hoping for. I mean, I wasn't expecting him to break out the champagne and throw a party, but I definitely thought he'd be glad. I thought this was what he wanted, I thought it was what _we_ wanted! But judging by the traumatized look on his face, I'm going to have to assume that I got it completely wrong. This isn't the reaction of someone who just received something they wanted, it's the reaction of someone who just received some extremely bad news.

"I... I thought you wanted this."

His eyes fly open immediately, and when he sees how rejected I clearly feel, his expression changes instantly. He no longer looks shaken and distressed, only sorry.

"I do _._ I just... I _never_ thought it would actually happen, you know? I'd kinda resigned myself to things being the way they had been forever. You showing up like this, telling me you left her and you want to be with me... it's seriously something I only ever thought would happen in my dreams." He explains with a soft chuckle, his cheeks flushing in obvious embarrassment. "I guess I'm just... afraid to let myself believe it's really happening in case it's not."

"It's really happening, trust me."

"I _want_ to..."

I can tell that the only way for me to break through his fears of this being a dream is to give him something undeniably real to hold on to, something tangible. He watches in silent astonishment as I carefully remove first my wedding ring from my left hand, and then my Hanson ring from my right. They're symbols of commitment to the two longest relationships I've ever had in my life. I've been wearing my Hanson ring since I was fifteen, and my wedding ring for nine years and eleven days. But both of those relationships are over now, I walked away from them.

For him.

"What am I supposed to do with these?" He asks nervously as I take his hand and carefully drop the rings into his palm.

"Whatever you want." I tell him in the most calm and collected tone I can muster. "They're my past... I'm _really_ hoping you're my future."

For the longest time, he simply stares down at the small pieces of metal he's holding. But we both know there's nothing small about them, they weigh so much more than they appear to.

He's literally got my life in the palm of his hand.

And he's _still_ not saying anything.

"I want to be with you... _really_ be with you. I'll move here, or we can move somewhere else together... whatever you want, I don't care as long as I'm with you. I mean, if that's what _you_ wa-"

Before I can finish speaking, my rings fall from his hand to the floor, and he eliminates the small distance between us in a single step. He pulls me as close as he can, pressing his lips to mine and erasing any remaining question I had about whether or not he really wants this. I was sure of my decision before, but I'm more certain than ever right here in this moment. _This_ is why I walked away from everything I've ever known.

 _This_ is worth losing everything for.

He makes me happy in a way I never have been before. I'm not saying I've never experienced happiness, that would be a ridiculous statement to make. But it's never felt the way it does when I'm with him. It's never felt this effortless and unconditional. And the idea that I might get to feel this way for the rest of my life is _completely_ overwhelming. I feel as though I don't deserve it, not after all of the pain that I've caused. But whether or not I deserve it... I've got it.

I've got him.


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TOMMY POV!!!!

  


  


 

 

 

You know that feeling you get when _everything_ in your life is _exactly_ the way you want it to be?

Until last night, I didn't.

I'd never had that feeling, I'd only ever heard about it from other people. And most of them were fictional characters on TV shows and in movies, which led me to believe that the feeling wasn't something that was actually attainable for anyone whose life wasn't scripted to perfection by a room full of professional writers.

It's not that I've never been happy, or that I haven't had some really fucking amazing opportunities and experiences in my life. But it's always felt like something wasn't quite right. Whenever things are going well in one part of my life, they seem to suck ass in another. Even when I joined Adam's band, and I was _finally_ doing what I'd been working for my whole life and making music for a living, there were other things going on that made it impossible for me to be _truly_ happy. My girlfriend was a total psycho hose beast, and then my dad was really sick, and...

Don't get me wrong, I loved my job and I _did_ appreciate how lucky I was despite everything else that was happening around me. My life just wasn't the way I wished it could be.

Then I fell for Taylor.

I'd never been in love before, and for the longest time I tried to deny that I actually _was_ in love with him. But even if I never admitted it out loud to anyone else, _I_ still knew it was true. It was actually the most incredible thing I'd ever felt; I didn't know that I _could_ feel that way about anyone or anything.

So, of course, he had to be married and hopelessly fucking closeted, just to make it fun.

But now he's not...

Well, technically I guess he's still both. But he's willing to change that.

For _me_.

I mean... what the _fuck_?

That wasn't supposed to happen! I _wanted_ it to happen, but I never for a second thought that it actually _would_.

Except that it did.

Which is why he's lying here asleep beside me on my bed. I've been watching him for a while now, studying the slowly changing pattern of shadows on his bare chest as the sun forces its way through the slats in the blinds. He looks so peaceful. If I didn't know better, I'd believe that he didn't have a care in the world.

If I didn't know better, I'd believe that he was happy.

Last night was seriously like a dream come true. I mean, I have literally _dreamed_ of him showing up at my door, telling me that he'd left his wife, and asking me to spend the rest of my life with him. I honestly thought that I _was_ dreaming at first... but it was _real_. And when I kissed him, when we made love... it _felt_ different. For the first time, I knew that he was mine and I wasn't going to have to give him back. I wasn't just some dirty little secret anymore, an ugly blemish on his seemingly flawless life. _I_ was the one he'd chosen.

I let him say "I love you", because nothing had _ever_ sounded so fucking good before. Hell, I _told_ him to say it, again and again. Maybe I even begged, I don't know. I just remember feeling so damn _sure_ about everything, about him, about _us_. He was with me, inside me, all around me... I couldn't see anything but those insanely blue eyes of his gazing back at me. And knowing that I would get to look into them every day... it was everything. Everything I'd been wanting, everything I'd been missing. It didn't hurt to hear him tell me that he loved me, it didn't feel like some cruel joke, like being tempted with what I wanted and not being allowed to really have it. I _had_ it. I _had_ him. And I felt so fucking whole, so full, I could barely hold myself together. You know that saying, bursting with happiness? That's the best way I can think of to describe what it felt like.

For the first time in my whole life, _everything_ was _perfect_.

I woke up this morning with his arm wrapped around me, and for the longest time I just lay here with him, soaking it all in and enjoying the fact that neither of us had to go anywhere. He wasn't going to leave, there was no ticking clock counting down the minutes until we'd have to say goodbye _again_. But as my fingers idly wandered up and down his forearm, they eventually found their way to his hand...

I could feel the indentation on his left ring finger.

I should've just ignored it, moved my hand away and pretended I'd never felt it. But instead I became totally _obsessed_ by it. I traced it over and over again, studying it with my fingertips. It was like a brail message, a brand there to remind me that he wasn't mine.

I stole him.

I tried to tell myself that one day that groove at the base of his finger wouldn't be there anymore, but it felt like it would never fade. It was as though the bone beneath the skin had been altered, too. He's been wearing that ring for so long, since he was still just a kid... his body has practically grown around it. It's become part of him, left its mark on him forever.

It doesn't matter that he's taken it off, it will _always_ be there.

Last night he told me it was his past, but his past is going to follow him into his future. It's inescapable, and I can't help thinking that it's going to haunt him, _us_ , for the rest of our lives.

It's almost seven now. That means it's nine in Tulsa. His kids are probably all wide awake, they know their dad isn't there, but they don't know where he is or why he left them.

Or maybe they do.

Maybe Natalie told them that he left them to be with someone else. He chose someone else over them...

I wonder if they know that the someone else is me?

I wonder if they'll hate me for taking him away?

I wonder if they'll hate him for letting me?

 _Fuck_.

I don't want them to hate him!

Within seconds it feels as though there's a weight on my chest, pressing down on my ribs, crushing my lungs. My heart races with panic as I lift his arm off of me, but it doesn't make one damn bit of difference. I still can't fucking breathe! He rolls over, deep asleep and completely oblivious to the fact that I'm basically fucking crawling out of bed, grasping for something to hold on to, something to keep me from drowning. The air around me feels heavy, too thick to inhale. The only thing I can think of to do is get out, out of this room, out of this apartment. I grab clothes off of the floor on my way out of the bedroom, not noticing or caring if they're his or mine as I hastily pull them on and hurry for the front door.

As soon as I'm safely outside, I gulp down several lungfuls of fresh air (or as fresh as air ever gets out here), and try to calm myself down. I'm no stranger to anxiety attacks, I've had my fair share of them before, but that was something else _entirely_. I don't understand what the fuck just happened to me, but I know for a fact that I've _never_ been that terrified in my whole life.

Once my breathing has mostly returned to normal, and I feel confident enough to venture back into the apartment, I head inside just long enough to grab my phone, keys, and shoes, and then I'm gone. At first I have no idea where I'm going, I just feel like I need to get in my car and drive. Which is weird, because I _hate_ driving. But driving will get me away from here a lot faster than walking, and the further away I get the easier it is to draw breath.

Eventually I find myself parked outside Isaac and Sophie's apartment building, which doesn't really surprise me. He's the one I go to when I need someone to make sense of my life. Even if he wasn't one of only a handful of people on the planet who knows enough about my relationship with Taylor to know what I'm talking about, he's the first person I'd choose to tell. He's much more level headed than I am, I think that's why we get along so well (as stupid as that sounds). We get each other; we have the same sense of humor, the same views, even the same likes and dislikes in almost all respects. But he's... settled. He has this self-possessed, composed way about him that I only dream of having most days. I can make a decent show of being a grown-up when I want to, but I still feel so completely fucking unsure of myself most days. He doesn't have that problem. He knows who he is, what he's doing, and what he wants out of life. And he's one of the very few people who know me well enough to even attempt to help me figure out the same.

I'm so absorbed in my own problems that it doesn't occur to me how early it still is until Sophie answers the door wearing a t-shirt and toe socks. I'm pretty sure she would've at least put Isaac's boxers on if it had been someone she didn't know, but since it's only me she didn't make the effort.

"Are you hurt?" She asks, pushing some dark brown bed-hair out of her eyes as she looks me up and down. "'Cause if you're not, you're gonna be."

"Sorry, Soph. I know I'm an asshole, but I need to talk to Isaac."

With a tired sigh, she holds the door open and gestures for me to come in, by which point Isaac is already standing in the living room in only his underwear. Again, nothing I haven't seen before, so even if I did have the will to care, I wouldn't.

" _Dude_."

"I know." I reply apologetically, dropping down heavily onto the couch while Sophie closes the door. "I'm _sorry_."

"I'll make coffee." She tells us through a yawn before disappearing into the kitchen.

"What's going on? Is it bad? 'Cause if it's bad, I'm gonna put a shirt on."

"Probably a good idea."

He holds my stare for a moment, trying to figure out just how serious this is, until eventually he mutters a concerned "shit" and retreats to his bedroom to find some clothes. He wastes no time coming back, in fact he's pulling the t-shirt over his head as he walks into the living room and collapses onto the couch beside me.

"Okay," He begins, his tone laced with dread. "Hit me."

"Taylor left his wife." If he'd been drinking something, I'm pretty sure he would've just spat it right in my face. Speaking of drinking something... "You got any whiskey? Or vodka?"

"We've got a little Patron." He offers dazedly as I push myself off of the couch, knowing better than to object to my desire for liquor at eight am. "I think we finished all the vodka the other night, I haven't had chance to restock."

Crap.

I fucking _hate_ that shit.

But it's better than nothing.

"Okay, I'm a little confused." He finally says, watching me root through his liquor cabinet until I find the last of his tequila. I don't bother getting a shot glass, or any other kind of glass, because the only place I'm planning to pour this garbage is straight down my throat. "I thought you _wanted_ him to leave his wife."

"I did."

"So... this is a celebratory drink?"

"Not exactly."

His brow furrows into a frown. "Then I'm _still_ confused."

Truthfully, so am I.

This is _not_ how I imagined I would spend this morning. Not that I'd had a whole lot of time to really think about it, but before I fell asleep last night I may have had some vague notions of lazy morning sex, followed by a hot shower, followed by breakfast (more likely brunch by that point) in bed, then maybe some lazy afternoon sex...

I did _not_ pencil in a goddamn panic attack and a bottle of Patron!

"This is bullshit." I mutter bitterly, slumping on the couch and unscrewing the cap from the tequila bottle before taking a long sip. "Everything was fucking _perfect_ last night, and this morning it was just _gone_."

"He's _gone_?" Isaac exclaims in surprise, and for one fleeting second I actually want to smile because I know that, if that actually _was_ the case, he'd hunt Taylor down and hurt him in cruel and unusual ways.

"No, _he's_ not gone. As far as I know, he's still asleep at my place."

"Then what the fuck are you talking about? Help me out here, Tommy, it's eight o'clock in the fucking morning!"

With a deep sigh, I take another swig from the bottle and try my best to explain what's been going on in my head. "You know that feeling you get when _everything_ in your life is _exactly_ the way you want it to be?"

"Yeah."

Of course he fucking does.

"Well _I_ didn't. I had _no_ fucking clue what that was like until he showed up at my apartment last night and told me he'd left his wife and he wanted to be with _me_."

"I take it that feeling didn't last very long?" He questions gently.

"It lasted until I woke up this morning, and then reality set in and it all turned to _shit_."

"And the reality is...?"

Fuck. Where do I even begin?

"He's Taylor fucking Hanson, for a start. He's like... nineties pop royalty or something." I point out, and I notice Isaac struggling to keep a smirk off of his face. "Even if he's not all over the cover of every damn magazine anymore, he _will_ be if I let him do this. _Everyone_ is gonna know his name again, for all the wrong reasons, and it's gonna be _my_ fault."

"That's not true. He's a grown man, Tommy, and he's been in the public eye practically his whole life now. I'm sure he's aware of the consequences. This is _his_ choice-"

"But he wouldn't have made it if it wasn't for me! If I hadn't waltzed into his life and fucked everything up, he wouldn't be doing this!"

"But he obviously _wants_ to! From everything you've told me about him, it doesn't exactly sound like he was happily married. It's not like you 'turned' him gay, he was already there-"

"No, I just made him out himself to his wife."

"You didn't _make_ him."

"Whatever! If it wasn't for me, this wouldn't be happening." I argue petulantly, throwing back another long sip.

"Maybe, maybe not. That doesn't mean it's a bad thing. You told me he was miserable, maybe now he has a shot at being happy."

"With _me_? Right, 'cause that happens _all_ the time. I'm the fucking _king_ of awesome relationships."

He frowns in confusion, shaking his head at me. "What're you talking about?"

"Have I had even _one_ successful relationship in the whole time you've known me?"

"Uh... no. But to be fair, the 'whole time I've known you' amounts to less than a year, and you've been sleeping with Taylor the entire time."

"Oh." Right. I always forget that Isaac only joined Adam's band last summer; it feels like I've known him my whole damn life. "Well, let me give you a little lesson in me, okay? I like... _suck_ at relationships. If there's a way to fuck it up, I'll find it. I do _not_ make good boyfriend material."

"That's not-"

"I'm serious! According to pretty much _all_ of my ex-girlfriends, I'm selfish and immature, and I don't try hard enough." As I go to raise the bottle to my lips again, it reminds me of one more accusation I've had levied against me mid-breakup. "I also drink too much."

"And maybe that stuff was all true in the past... maybe some of it still is." He takes the tequila out of my hands and sets it on the coffee table in front of us. "But trust me, all it takes is finding the right person. The fact that none of your relationships worked out in the past doesn't mean you're totally incapable of making a relationship work, _period_. They have nothing to do with your relationship with Taylor."

"They set a precedent."

"No, they're just... experiences. It's never gonna work out with the wrong person. If it did, they wouldn't _be_ the wrong person. Relationships end for a reason."

"Right! All mine ended because I'm a selfish, immature, lazy, drunk."

"I'll give you immature, but the rest is bullshit." He insists. "You're one of the best people I know, and you're the best friend I've _ever_ had. You're like a fucking brother to me, okay? Maybe you didn't try hard enough to make your past relationships work, but who the hell _wants_ to try to make something work when they know it's not the real deal? I know you, and you work your _ass_ off for the things you do want, you give your all to the things and the people you love. You're one of the least selfish people I've ever met-"

"Yeah, I'm a saint. I'm so fucking _selfless_ that I'm taking a father away from his kids."

 Apparently he can't argue that point. Because I'm right. Selfish is the only word to describe someone who would let a man abandon his children to be with them. Well, maybe not the only word. I could think of a few other good ones.

The silence between us drags on and on, until it becomes so unbearable that the only thing I can think of to do is reach out and grab that bottle of Patron again. Let's see him try to deny that I drink too much now.

"Marriages end." He eventually sighs, knowing that his point is as weak as he just made it sound. "It happens, Tommy. People grow up and they grow apart, and sometimes they have kids before they get to the point where they realize they're married to the wrong person. That doesn't mean they have to stay together forever for the sake of their children. Hell, it's almost always worse for the kids if their parents _do_ stay stuck in a miserable, loveless marriage."

"This is different."

"How?"

"It just _is_."

It isn't, but it feels like it is. It feels like it is because _I'm_ the reason he's walking away from those kids.

I can't stop seeing their faces. I can't stop picturing them crying when they realize that he's gone and he's not coming back...

I lost my dad.

I know it's not the same thing _at all_ , but still... in some ways this is almost _worse_. My dad would have stayed with us if he could. He fought with everything he had. It wasn't his choice to leave, and as painful as it was to lose him, at least I know that he loved me and that he would still be here if he'd had _any_ control over what happened to him.

Taylor's kids don't know that.

They're going to grow up knowing that their dad _chose_ not to be there.

Because of me.

I _knew_ I never should have agreed to hang out with them that day. I probably wouldn't care so fucking much if I hadn't. If I only knew their names, if I hadn't heard them laugh, or watched them play tag, or seen the way they look at him...

"I met them."

"Who?"

"Taylor's kids." I admit quietly, ashamedly, doing my best to pretend I can't see the look on his face. "He was in L.A. last month with his family, and his wife left him with the kids for the day... it was our last chance to see each other before he left, so... he asked me if I wanted to go to a movie with them."

Isaac draws in a long, slow breath, probably trying to think of something supportive to say when all he really wants to do is smack me upside the head. "How'd it go?"

"Amazing." I smile at the memory of them all gawking at my tattoos, the feel of Viggo's tiny hand wrapped tightly around my finger as he jumped over every crack in the sidewalk. "They're so great."

"But now you've met them, you care too much." He guesses knowingly. "You don't know how to let their dad walk out on them."

"They fucking _worship_ him, Isaac, he's their damn hero!"

"That's normal."

"But if he does this, if he leaves them, they're _not_ going to see him that way anymore." I sigh in frustration, slouching against the couch cushions and running a hand through my hair. "They're gonna hate him."

"You don't know that."

"If your dad had left you and your mom for another guy when you were nine-years-old, would he still be your hero?" He hesitates. I can see that he wants to say yes; his mouth is already open, fighting to form the word. But he can't _honestly_ say it. "Exactly."

"I didn't say no-"

"You didn't say yes, either."

"Because I don't _know_! I mean... it was a long fucking time ago, Tommy. I don't remember how I felt or what I thought back then-"

"It doesn't matter. You can't say for _sure_ that you wouldn't have grown up hating his guts for choosing to be with some guy over you and your mom." More silence. "And you didn't grow up in fucking Jesusland, either."

"Eastern Washington isn't all that different from the Bible Belt."

"They're gonna have it hammered into their heads that being gay is wrong. They're going to grow up being told that their _dad_ is wrong, and that he's going to hell. And _I'll_ be the reason. I'm the one who took him away from them, and I'm the reason he's going to hell."

"You don't even believe in hell!"

"But _they_ do, and they're going to _hate_ us both!" I push myself off of the couch, the emotions swelling in my chest leaving me with the overwhelming urge to not just be sitting. Apparently I think I can literally 'walk it off' if I just pace in front of the couch long enough. "God-fucking- _damnit_ , I hate him! I _hate_ him for being such a fucking _mess_! Why couldn't he just be some single, washed-up child star? I could deal with that. Or even just a regular, married closet case! But no, he has to have _four_ kids! It's not fucking _fair_!"

"Tommy-"

"I sleep." I blurt out, only semi-aware of what I'm saying anymore. Words and thoughts are spilling out of my mouth at random; I'm trying so damn hard not to fucking _cry_ that I have no control over anything else I'm doing. "You know how I never sleep? I either stay up until like three in the morning, or I wake up at three and can't get back to sleep. It drives me fucking _nuts_! I've tried everything: pills, alcohol, aromatherapy, even warm fucking _milk_! _Nothing_ works."

"I know." He acknowledges sympathetically, and the expression on his face is my first clue to the fact that there are tears in my eyes despite my efforts to contain them.

 _Fuck_.

"I sleep when he's there. I don't know why, I just do. I can sleep through the whole fucking night, eight hours straight, sometimes more. I can't remember a time when I was ever able to do that before in my _entire_ fucking adult life!" He doesn't seem to know what to say to that. But then, what the hell are you supposed to say in response to the ranting of a crazy person? "Why does he have to be _him_? Why can't he just be someone else?"

"Would you love him this much if he was?"

I've never told Isaac that I love Taylor. I've never told _anyone_. But apparently I don't need to say it; he can see it. Which is fucking terrifying, to be honest. And my gut instinct is to deny it, but I guess at this point it would be a waste of time and energy.

He's right.

I love Taylor.

Even if he is a total mess of a person.

I love everything about him, the good and the bad, and I honestly _don't_ know if I would love him so damn much if he was anyone else. Even if he was himself, just less complicated... all those complications play a part in making him who he is. And I love who he is.

God, this is fucked up.

"Shit, Isaac... what've I done?" I sniffle pathetically

Within seconds he's off of the couch and hugging me tightly. I can barely summon the strength to hug him back, though. I feel weak, hopeless. I don't want to deal with this, I just want it to all go away. I want everything to be simple, just for fucking _once._

But you can't always get what you want.

"If he leaves them for me, if he leaves his kids, and his family, and his band, and _every_ -fucking- _thing_ he has for me... he's going to regret it. He's gonna have _nothing_."

"He'll have you." Isaac corrects me calmly, pulling back a little to look me in the eyes. "Maybe that's all he wants?"

I shake my head sadly as I wipe my damp cheeks with the palm of my hand. I can't accept that as an answer. It's just not enough...

"I'm not enough."

" _Bullshit_."

"I'm _not_!" I insist stubbornly, shrugging him off of me in irritation. "I'm not worth giving up his entire fucking _life_ for. And sooner or later he's gonna realize that, and then _he's_ gonna hate me, too! I'm gonna lose him, Isaac, it's only a matter of time. At least if it's now... maybe it's not too late for him to save his family. She'll take him back, I know she will-"

"But what if he doesn't _want_ to go back?"

He doesn't.

But he will.

If he doesn't think he has anything to fight for, he'll turn right around and run back to the life he just left behind. And as much as I don't want to let him do that, for his sake as well as mine... maybe it's better. It's better than letting him stay here, letting him throw away everything for nothing.

Because I _won't_ be enough.

When his career is over, and his family is in shambles, and his kids don't even want to see him on the few occasions that whatever custody agreement he reaches with Natalie allow him... I'm not going to be enough to make it worth all of the pain. He's going to wake up one morning, and he's going to look at me and wonder what the fuck he was thinking. He's going to resent me, and his kids are going to resent me, his brothers, his family, his fans... hell, _I'm_ going to resent me.

I already do.

My phone starts to ring, and even if the ringtone didn't give the caller away I still would've known who it was. I can't answer it, though. I get as far as taking it out of my pocket and staring at his picture, but I can't talk to him. Not like this.

"What're you gonna do?" Isaac asks me uncertainly as soon as the ringtone comes to an abrupt end. "I mean, not that you're not always welcome, but you can't hide out here forever."

"I know."

"Maybe you should just... talk to him. Tell him everything you just told me-"

"No." I cut him off quietly, almost unemotionally.

I feel completely numb... and yet _everything_ hurts

If I tell Taylor the truth, he'll tell me I'm being stupid. He'll tell me none of the things I'm afraid of will happen, he'll convince me that we'll be fine. And I'll believe him, because I want _so_ desperately for that to be the case.

But I honestly don't think it is.

I _can't_ tell him the truth...

I guess that means it's my turn to lie.

For the next hour or so, I hide out at Isaac and Sophie's like the spineless fucking coward I am. I pretend I'm being responsible, sobering up before driving home. But honestly, I feel as though I may as well have not had any tequila. I'm definitely not drunk, I'm not even slightly buzzed. But if sitting on their couch and drinking coffee is a valid excuse not to go back to my apartment and face the consequences of the chaos I helped to create, I'll gladly take it.

When I finally _do_ force myself to leave, I take the most round-about route I can possibly think of, anything to buy me a couple of extra minutes. But in the end it's unnecessary; I can't bring myself to get out of the car.

This is it.

I'm about to go in there and break the heart of the only person I've ever been in love with... because I'm too fucking afraid of losing him. And because I love him so damn much that I refuse to let him give up everything he has, everything he's worked for, to be with me. I won't let him give up his kids. I won't let him give up his career. He might think it's what he wants now, but when reality sinks in, when the "honeymoon" is over, he's going to be fucking _miserable._ He thinks I'm something special; I'm different from everyone else in his life, and it makes him believe that I'm some kind of answer to all of his problems. But I'm _not_. He's going to figure that out eventually, and he's going to wish he'd never met me. He has enough regrets already, I don't want to be the reason he has more of them.

I definitely don't want to _be_ one of them.

But _fuck_ , if this isn't the hardest thing I've _ever_ done.

It fucking _hurts_. Being with him is what I wanted, it's all I've wanted for months now. I never thought it would happen though. And I guess there was some sick sense of safety in that. I didn't have to worry about what would happen if he actually chose me, because it wasn't ever going to happen.

Except that it has.

I got what I wanted... and now I have to give it up.

I don't _want_ to let him go. I want to be selfish. I want to keep him. I don't want to give a shit about his kids or his family. But they're part of him, so I _have_ to. I have to care about what it'll do to him to hardly ever see his children, to have them hate him, or feel nothing but apathy towards him because they barely know him. What if Natalie remarries? Some other guy will be raising _his_ kids on the other side of the country, and it's going to fucking _kill_ him. As much as I hate it, I sincerely believe that losing me will hurt him less than losing them.

I guess this is what I get, huh? This is the Universe's way of making me pay for trying to break up a family.

For one perfect night, I had everything.   _Everything_...

And in a matter of minutes, it'll be gone.


	64. Chapter 64

  


  


 

 

 

When I wake up to an empty space beside me rather than Tommy's warm body, I'm undeniably disappointed. All I really want to do right now is wrap myself around him and go back to sleep. I want to feel his skin against mine, feel his soft, even breathing, and know that last night wasn't just a dream. I want to know that everything we said, everything we did, was real. This is the first day of whatever life we decide to make together, and I want him _here._

I try to tell myself that he's probably in the bathroom or something, and I should just take a breath and be patient. I don't want to be even more needy and clingy than I normally am and scare him away before breakfast!

But when he isn't back after half an hour, the reassuring excuses I've been making to myself stop working. The bedroom door is half open but I can't hear voices coming from the living room, so I doubt he's hanging out in there with Mike. And I really doubt he's _still_ in the bathroom. There are no sounds or smells drifting in from the kitchen, so it's unlikely that he's out there making me breakfast (it's also unlikely because he doesn't really cook).

But if he's not in the bathroom, or the kitchen, or the living room, and he's not in here with me...

Where is he?

"Tommy?"

Silence...

I try again, a little louder this time. "Tommy?"

When there's still no response, I roll to the edge of the mattress and reach over the side of the bed, grabbing my pants and retrieving my phone. There are a few texts from Zac, but nothing from Tommy. As curious as I am to know what Zac has to say, I'm more curious to know where the hell Tommy went. But just like last night, he's not answering his phone. I can't hear it ringing or vibrating anywhere, so I think it's safe to assume he hasn't gone out and left it behind again... which means he's just not picking up.

In a last ditch attempt to keep myself from prematurely freaking out and letting my paranoia and insecurities take over, I turn my attention to Zac's texts instead. 

 

 _Nat and_ _the kids are at our place. She's freaking out but they're okay._

_They think you're working. No one else knows what's going on yet._

_Where ARE you? Are you still in Tulsa or LA?_

_  
_

I push myself up against the pillows, staring down at the keyboard on the screen and wondering what to tell him. I feel like shit for the fact that he's been left to pick up the pieces while I'm a thousand miles away from it all. I don't want to text him back, it just feels too inconsiderate, like I don't have time to talk to him properly and answer his questions because I have more important things to do.

So I call him instead.

It takes him a lot longer than usual to answer his phone, and I imagine that he probably had to excuse himself from Natalie's presence and make up a good reason to leave the room so that she won't know who he's talking to.

Have I mentioned that I _hate_ this?

"Hey." He sounds so far away, and I can't tell if it's because he's trying to keep his voice down or if it's all in my head. "Are you okay?"

"I guess." I sigh tiredly. "You?"

"I'm... okay, mostly. Just trying to kinda keep everything contained, you know?"

"Yeah." Fuck. "I'm sorry, Zac."

"I know. It's okay, it's nothing I can't handle."

"But you shouldn't _have_ to handle it. I did this, I should be the one to deal with the fallout, _not_ you." I protest in frustration. It's not that I regret coming here last night, but I wish there was a way I could be here _and_ be there. I guess some things are never going to change. "I didn't plan to hop a plane to L.A., I just... did it. I swear I didn't mean to leave everyone else to clean up after me."

"I guess that answers my next question." He chuckles quietly, but there isn't a trace of amusement in his tone. "When are you coming back?"

"I don't know. Like I said, I didn't plan this part, I have _no_ fucking clue what I'm doing." That's not an answer. I _suck_. "I guess I should come back pretty soon, huh?"

"Probably." I don't know why _he_ sounds so apologetic; he has nothing to be sorry for. "Nat's already talking about moving back to Georgia to be near her family, I think she's pretty serious about it."

"I figured."

"Hold on a second, okay?"

There's no time for me to respond before I hear the sound of him holding his phone to his chest while he talks to someone else. Everything on the other end of the line is distorted, muffled by his shirt, but even though I can't hear what's being said, I can tell from the pitch of the other person's voice that he's talking to a child.

"Still there?"

"Yeah."

"River wants to say 'hi' quickly... is that okay?"

Tears spring to my eyes immediately. Is it _okay_ for my son to say hello to me? Do I have time for him? Do I _want_ to talk to him?

 _Fuck_.

When did these become actual questions?!

"Of course."

"Okay, here he is." There's a brief moment of silence, and then I'm struggling not to cry all over again at the sound of my son's delighted voice. "Hi Daddy!"

"Hey, buddy. What're you doing?"

"I'm at Uncle Zac's. We came over for breakfast and then I just made a super cool fort with Shep! We're gonna live in it _forever_!"

I laugh softly, wiping my damp eyes and trying to steady my voice. "That's awesome!"

"You can live in it with us, there's _tons_ of room, and we have a Wii!" He informs me excitedly.  "When are you gonna come see it?"

"I'm not sure yet, Riv. But I promise I'm working on it, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay." Even though the disappointment in his tone is something I'm used to, it never stops stinging. "Do you wanna talk to Mommy? She's real sad today 'cause you're gone."

"Uh..."

"Actually, dude, I kinda need to talk to him right now." I hear Zac tell him gently. "He can talk to Mommy another time."

River sighs sadly into the phone, and I'm sure it makes Zac feel just as guilty as I do. "Uncle Zac has to talk to you, so I gotta go."

"Alright. Tell your brothers and sister that I miss them already and I love them, okay?"

"I will!" He promises me, his upbeat attitude returning in a split second. I wish the gleeful tone in his voice was enough to keep my heart from hurting.

"I love you, buddy."

"I love you more!"

Oh, _God._

By the time Zac has taken the phone from him, I'm dangerously close to being a complete wreck. I thought I could handle this; I spend so much time away from my kids, I seriously didn't expect to miss them _this_ badly _this_ soon. But not knowing when I'll get to see them again, or for how long, or what the future holds for any of us is making it all _so_ much harder than I anticipated.

I wish Tommy was here right now. I could really use a hand to hold.

"You okay?" Zac asks me sympathetically.

At first all I can do is nod because I'm afraid that if I open my mouth to try to speak, the only thing that will come out is the sob that's stuck in my throat. But when I eventually manage to swallow it, I take a breath and reply. "Not really."

"Can I do anything?"

"You've already done _way_ more than you should've had to."

"Is there anything you want me to tell anyone? I mean... are you gonna call Mom and Dad? Or Ike?"

I don't know. I stupidly never thought that far ahead. "I guess. I feel like shit telling them about this over the phone, though."

"Yeah."

"Fuck, I don't know... maybe I should just come back now and tell everyone myself before they find out from Nat?"

I should. I just _really_ don't want to.

"They'd probably take it better that way."

That's a joke. "You really think they're going to take it well, regardless of how they find out?"

"I said _better_ , I didn't say 'well'."

I know he means it as a joke, but it's too close to the truth to be even a little bit funny. He's right, they aren't going to take this well. How could they? Even if they didn't all think that homosexuality is a sin, I'm still leaving my wife and four children, _and_ the band I've been in for practically my whole life. They're going to think I've totally lost my mind. They're going to be angry, and confused, and hurt. And there's no guarantee that any of them are going to understand or accept it.

Not now, and maybe not ever.

"Just... catch your breath, okay?" He finally tells me. "I can keep the crazy under control on this end for a little longer. I'll just tell everyone that you're in New York for Tinted Windows stuff or something, that should buy you a couple of days."

" _Thank you_ , Zac."

"You're welcome."

I'm so preoccupied by the phone call, with River's voice ringing in my ears, and trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do next, that I spend almost an entire hour lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. For a while, the fact that Tommy isn't here becomes the least of my concerns. But as ten o'clock rolls around and there's _still_ no sign of him, I find myself becoming more and more worried about where he's gone and why.

I grab my jeans and underwear from the floor, pulling them on before searching for my shirt. But I can't find it anywhere. Eventually I give up and go through his dresser until I find a t-shirt that looks like it might fit me. Hopefully he won't mind; he did offer to let me borrow his clothes once, after all.

The apartment is eerily quiet as I step out into the living room. Everything is still, there's no sign of life anywhere, and it feels more than a little strange to be here alone. This is his house, not mine, and even though I think of him as home... that doesn't automatically make me feel _at home_ in his apartment. Especially since he shares it with someone else.

I wonder if this is where I'm going to be living now?

We didn't exactly discuss housing arrangements last night. We didn't discuss much of anything, really. I was here, and we were together, and that was enough. The details and the questions could wait. Only now it's the morning after, and all of the details and questions are threatening to drive me crazy. I'd really like to sit down and talk things out with him, find out where he's at in all of this and what he wants to do next...

But I can't when he's nowhere to be found.

Even though I highly doubt I'll find one, I check the coffee table and the refrigerator for any kind of note that might tell me where he is. And then I go back and check the night stand by the bed, and then my phone again even though I know better. I don't understand what's going on. I know I can't really say that this isn't like him, given the fact that we haven't spent enough time together in person for me to know if he likes to up and disappear on people first thing in the morning without explanation.

But... I _know_ him, and this _isn't_ like him.

Especially not after what happened last night.

I want to tell myself that maybe he just went out to get coffee, or breakfast, or... something. But it's been over an hour, and he's not answering his phone.

Maybe something happened to him?

Fuck, _no_. That's _not_ it.

He's fine, he has to be; the universe cannot be _that_ fucking cruel!

 Just as my mind is about to start spinning off into insanity, imagining all of the possible things that could have caused him to disappear like this, the front door of the apartment opens and he steps inside. To say I'm relieved would be putting it mildly. The only reason I don't go right over to him and hug him until he can't breathe is because I don't want to tell him why I'm so happy to see him. Not that he's unaware of how ridiculous I am at this point, but I still like to shield him whenever possible.

"Hey." I try to disguise my relieved sigh as a relaxed chuckle. "I was just wondering where you'd gone."

"Yeah... sorry. I needed to get out for a while."

"Oh..." Okay. That's... vague. "Are you alright?"

He's supposed to say "yes". He's supposed to smile, and say "yes", and suggest that we go out for breakfast because there's nothing edible in his fridge. And I'm supposed to agree to breakfast, but not until we've taken a shower. And then he's supposed to see my shower and seductively raise me some very belated morning sex.

But instead, he takes a deep breath and finally looks me in the eyes. "We need to talk."

That sentence is painfully familiar; I said it to my wife less than twenty-four-hours ago.

Right before I left her.

"What's going on?" I ask him nervously, watching as he slowly makes his way further into the apartment. "Is everything okay?"

He takes a moment, probably trying to figure out how to word whatever it is he's about to tell me. But every second that passes only serves to make me more and more anxious, until I'm on the verge of begging him to just _say_ whatever the hell it is he's trying to say.

This must be how she felt.

"I can't do this." He eventually admits, his eyes now trained on the floor rather than me.

"Do what?"

" _This_... us."

No.

No, no, no, no, _no_.

"I-I don't understand." I stammer weakly, trying to convince myself that I'm still asleep and this is all just a horrible nightmare. But deep down I know that it's not. I just don't know _why_ it's happening, it doesn't make any sense! "This is what you wanted..."

"I _thought_ it was." He agrees quietly. "But... it's not."

"That's bullshit! I was there, Tommy. I was _there_ last night, we _both_ were. You wanted this, I know you did, I _felt_ it!"

He gives a helpless shrug, forcing himself to meet my confused gaze once again. "I don't know what to say. Last night it _was_ what I wanted. Or what I thought I wanted. But this morning... I don't know. I woke up and it just... it wasn't there anymore."

"Something like that doesn't just change overnight!"

"Well it did for me." He sighs sadly, remorsefully. "I don't know... maybe I never really wanted this. Maybe I just thought I did because I knew I could never have it, you know?"

"No, I _don't_ know!" I shout back at him, unsure of whether my voice is trembling with anger or fear or impending tears. Probably all three. _How_ is this happening?! "You make it sound like it was just some game to you or something, and I _know_ that's not true."

"No, it's not. I _do_ care about you, _a lot_ , but... when I woke up this morning I was lying there and trying to picture us together, like... _really_ together, every day, for the rest of our lives." He shakes his head slowly, and I almost want to cover my ears like a child so that I won't have to hear what he's about to say. "I just couldn't see it."

"So you're breaking up with me because you had a little trouble picturing us with a white picket fence? Is _that_ it?"

"I'm breaking up with you because I can't picture us together _at all_. I just honestly _don't_ see it working out long term, Taylor. I'm sorry."

He's _sorry_?

It took me so long to get here. I've been waiting for him, for the way I feel about him, since before I ever so much as laid eyes on him! It took me so fucking long to find the courage to admit that I was gay, to not _hate_ myself for it, to accept it and even want to embrace it. He made me want to be somebody I'd never been before. He made me want to be _me_...

And now he's telling me that he doesn't want me.

This _can't_ be happening!

This isn't how he really feels. He's just freaking out. It's all happening too fast, that's all. It was completely unexpected for him, and it's a hell of a lot to handle. He's just scared. He's having doubts, and he's overwhelmed, and he thinks that means he doesn't want this. But he does, I know he does, he just needs to take some time, take a breath, and get used to the idea.

"Look..." I begin as calmly as I possibly can, trying to put my own fears on hold so that I can help him overcome his. "I know this is a big deal-"

"Taylor-"

"No, hear me out, okay?" He sighs wearily as I walk over to him, taking his hands in mine and trying to get him to focus, to listen, to remember how we both felt last night. Trying to ignore the fact that his fingers aren't holding mine the way mine are holding his. "I get it; I'm terrified, too. But we can figure it out together. If this is all moving too fast for you, if you need some time, I _totally_ understand. We can take it as slow as you want. I'll get my own place, we don't have to live together right now, we can wait. We don't have to try to define this yet, we can just... spend time together and figure it out as we go. We can tell whoever you want to tell, or not tell anyone at all... it's _completely_ up to you, we can do this however _you_ want."

He shakes his head again, looking up at me pityingly. It makes me want to throw up. "I don't need time or space or any of that stuff. I'm _not_ scared, Taylor. I'm just... sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't know how I really felt before now."

"Why are you doing this?"

The second the words leave my mouth, I'm hit with the strongest sense of déjà vu. But again, it's not my own experience I'm reliving. It's hers.

Is this what I get? Is this the Universe's way of punishing me for hurting Natalie?

I broke her heart, and now he's breaking mine.

"I don't know what you want me to say." He replies miserably. "I'm just trying to be honest. I... I want something different. I like you a lot," _Like_? Is he fucking _kidding_?! God, I can't _breathe_! "But it's not enough. I mean... I'm not willing to change the way I live my life-"

"I'm not asking you to!"

"You are! If you move here, and we're together, things _are_ gonna change. I'm going to have to make room for you in my life, at least figuratively if not literally. I _like_ things the way they are. I like where I live, and I like the bands I play in, and I like the way I spend my time. I don't want _any_ of that to change."

" _That's_ your reason?" I exclaim incredulously, ready and willing to point out the multiple holes in his explanation. "It won't be _that_ hard, Tommy! You don't have to change your whole life, we'll make it work!"

"I don't _want_ to 'make it work'. I'm tired of needing to _make_ things work. I'm tired of forcing things, I'm tired of fighting, and waiting, and _trying_. It feels like that's all I've done since I met you!" He shouts back at me impatiently, pulling his hands out of my grasp and stepping away from me. "I just want to be fucking _happy_ , okay? If I honestly wanted you here, I wouldn't resent the idea of sacrificing certain things to be with you! But I _do_. I want to get married some day, and have kids, and we can't do either of those things. Not without _more_ fighting, and waiting, and 'making it work'. That's not what I want my life to be! And your kids are sweet and everything, but they're not _mine_ , and I don't want to play step-dad to someone else's kids."

"And you're telling me that you had no idea you felt any of these things _before_?!"

"I don't know, okay! I don't know what I felt, I'm just trying to tell you how I feel _now_!"

"Well it's a little fucking late, Tommy! I left _everything_ for you!"

"Did you ever stop to think there might be a reason why I _never_ fucking asked you to?!"

The apartment falls stonily silent once more, both of us giving the echoes of our bitter words time to die out completely before we attempt to speak again. Not that I have any idea what to say to him anymore. I don't know how to argue with him when nothing he's saying makes sense to me. I don't know how to talk him out of this when I have  no clue where any of it is coming from. It almost feels like a lie.

But it hurts enough to be the truth.

"Can't you just... give this a chance?" I plead hopelessly, blinking back the tears in my eyes as plead with him. "Let's just try, okay? _Please_?"

"We could try." He nods faintly, but I already know it's not a concession. "You could move to L.A., and we could play at being a couple for a while... but we're gonna end up right back here eventually."

"You don't _know_ that!"                

"Yes, I do."

" _How_?"

The look in his eyes as he takes a slow, deep breath strikes me as reluctant, like he doesn't want to say what he's about to. I'm just not sure which of us he's trying to spare. "Because... I don't lov-"

"Don't." I beg feebly as soon as I realize what the next words out of his mouth are going to be, what he's about to tell me. "Just... _don't_."

I don't need to hear that.

I _can't_ hear that.

"I'm _sorry_ , Taylor." He tells me with unquestionable sincerity. If it wasn't for the gaping hole that he's left in my chest, maybe I could accept his heartfelt apology. Maybe it would bring me some small comfort. Instead, it feels like a slap in the face. "I never meant for this to happen, I _never_ wanted to hurt you, I swear." I'd nod if I could, just to acknowledge that I heard him, but I don't even feel capable of that much right now. I think I'm in too much shock to move a muscle. "If I could take it back... if I could undo it all and make it like you never even met me, I would."

I know he's trying to make this better somehow, but he's only making it worse. I don't wish I'd never met him. I would _never_ wish to undo a single second that I've spent with him, I'm not sorry for any of it. Even if this is the end result.

Even if it was all for nothing.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do now, though. Turn around an leave? Then what? I have nothing. I literally left _everything_ I had because all I wanted, all I _needed,_ was him.

I have nowhere to go.

I'm semi-aware of him moving closer again, and for a moment I think that maybe he's going to try to hug me. I don't know if I can handle that right now. Part of me wants to hold onto him with everything I have in me and _never_ let go, but part of me is so mad at him and so utterly hurt by him that I can't stand the thought of him hugging me. _Pitying_ me.

But as it turns out, I don't have to worry about that at all.

He picks my rings up from off of the floor, right where they landed when he needed to kiss me so badly that he simply let go of them. I gave them to him because I trusted him with my life. With my heart. I asked him to be my future... I thought the answer was an unequivocal 'yes'.

And yet, here he is... picking up the pieces of my past from the ground and handing them back to me.

I guess my past is all I have now.

He takes my hand gently, just as I took his last night, turning it over and carefully placing the rings in my open palm before closing my fingers around them. " I wish I was everything you thought I was..." He tells me, his voice wavering as his hand squeezes mine tightly. "I'm just _not_."

So that's it, then?

We're over.

My eyes follow his hand as it releases mine and falls to his side, and eventually I force myself to turn my attention to his sorrowful stare. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that he's as torn up about this as I am. But I _do_ know better. It isn't despair I'm seeing in those dark brown eyes of his, it's guilt. He's not sad that we're finally over, he's just sad that he let it get this far. That he let me give up things for him that I'd _never_ before thought I could bring myself to let go of.

But like he said, he never asked me to. He never wanted me to.

I don't know how to say goodbye to him. I don't _want_ to. But regardless of what I want, and whether either of us says it or not, this _is_ goodbye. I guess I should be grateful that it's happening now and not a few months down the line. I don't live here, I don't have to move out, I don't have to pack a single bag.

All I have to do is walk out of that door.

All I have to do...

"I can't believe this is happening."

I don't know why I bothered saying it out loud. It might be the only thought circling my mind right now, but he didn't need to hear it. It's not going to fix anything, he's not suddenly going to change his mind just because I don't know how to accept this.

"I'm sorry..." He murmurs softly.

Me too.

My feet carry me over to the door on the other side of the room, but I feel as though a significant part of me stays behind, rooted to the spot I was last stood in. It's almost like having an outer-body experience, seeing myself do something, being aware that it's happening, but not feeling like I'm in control of it at all. I've been ripped in two. My mind and body are leaving him, but my heart and soul refuse to follow.

They belong to him.

Whether he wants them or not. 


	65. Chapter 65

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done writing the final chapter! There will be 67 in total when it's finished, so only 2 more to go!
> 
> P.S. Sorry if you guys all hate me right now. lol I understand; I hate me, too. :p

  


  


 

 

I somehow end up sitting in my rental car in front of his apartment, although I have no recollection of walking down here or unlocking the door, let alone getting inside. And now that I'm here, I don't know where the hell I'm supposed to go. I think I'm still too dazed by everything that's happened to be able to accept that it's real. I keep expecting to wake up from this nightmare I'm stuck in, or for him to open the passenger side door and apologize and take it all back the way he did the last time he basically broke up with me out of the blue.

But I know that's not going to happen.

And I know that I can't just sit here forever, either. I don't want him to look out of his window and see that I'm still here. I don't want him to think I'm waiting for something, because I'm not. Not from him, anyway. I might be waiting for a sign from some higher power, a nudge in one direction or another, anything to show me what I should do next. Because I sure as hell have _no_ clue.

Eventually I find the presence of mind to put the key in the ignition and start the engine, and I mechanically shift from park to drive and pull out onto the street... but I'm still destinationless. I just feel as though I need to move. I need to leave.

There's no point in staying.

At first, I just drive straight. It's like that's all I'm capable of right now; I can stop and start, but anything involving more thought than that is impossible. My mind is still frozen in a state of shock, unable to process what just happened or why. I rewind through everything that was said, replaying certain moments that feel key for one reason or another. I'm trying to find a rationale, one that actually makes sense, but I can't. And the harder I try, the deeper I dig and the closer I look, the more it starts to hurt. The numbing fog begins to clear, and the reality of it all starts to sink in.

Every word he said cuts like a knife, like razors across my skin, slicing deeper and deeper.

_I can't picture us together **at all**._

My fingers grip the steering wheel tightly, until it hurts, until I'm gritting my teeth to keep from crying out. It's as though I'm trying to overrule one kind of pain with another. But it's not working.

_I like you a lot, but it's not enough._

Tears blur my sight as I struggle to draw breath. I don't understand. I _don't_. He _liked_ me. _Liked_. I loved him so much that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, regardless of the cost, and he _liked_ me?

_Because... I don't lo-_

I hear the angry, urgent sound of a car horn close by, shattering the memory of that moment into a thousand pieces. My foot instinctively slams on the brake in the middle of an intersection, just in time to avoid being rammed into by a big, black pick-up truck. The driver leans out of his window and yells something at me as he swerves around the front of the car and goes on his way, but whatever it was doesn't register with me.

What _does_ register is the fact that my heart isn't pounding. I'm not relieved, I'm not shaken or startled, I'm not any of the things a person should be in the moments immediately following a near-collision that could have potentially landed them in the ER. Or worse.

I don't care.

More car horns sound, this time out of impatience, and I dutifully check for oncoming traffic before continuing across the street. It takes another couple of minutes for me to truly grasp what a dangerous frame of mind I'm in right now. I may not have been living my life to the fullest before I met Tommy, but it had been a _long_ time since I'd had no interest in living it at all. I never expected to find myself back in this place again. Ezra became my reason for living the last time I thought I didn't have one, and my children have been a constant sense of purpose ever since.

For a split second, I forgot that. I forgot them, and I forgot myself...

And I almost got myself killed.

I pull the car over onto a quieter street, putting it safely in park as I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and try to catch my breath. The more I think about my kids, the more I start to care about what just happened. And as I start to care, I start to feel all of the things that any normal, emotionally stable person would have felt when faced with the fact that they literally came within mere inches of a serious car crash.

My trembling fingers fumble for the car keys and turn the engine off. I can't drive anymore. Not only because I'm now far too shaken to face it, but also because I know I'm just not mentally present enough to be behind the wheel of a car. It's not safe for me or for anyone else on the road right now, I can't risk it. But I don't want to be stuck in the suburbs of Burbank like this, either.

After taking a moment or two to consider my limited options, I pull my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and call Alex. It takes him a while to answer, as usual, but all that matters is that he does. I'm not alone.

"Hey! Long time, no talk."

"Yeah... it's been a while." If I wasn't already feeling so many different things, I'd feel guilty that it's been weeks since we last spoke. But right now, all I can manage is a pathetic "sorry".

"How's it going?"

"Um... not good." I hear myself laugh softly, but it sounds fake and quickly fades. "Are you busy right now?"

"Sort of. But I could be un-busy if necessary. Why?"

"Can you pick me up? I'm in Burbank and... I-I don't know... I just ran right through a red light and almost got T-boned, and I just... I _can't_ drive right now."

"Where are you?"

"Uh..." Good question. I strain to look over my shoulder at the street signs behind me, only barely able to make them out. "Olive and... Florence, I think?"

"Got it. Sit tight, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks, Alex."

For the half an hour it takes him to find me, there's nothing for me to do but sit and think. I try everything to stop myself, from blasting music as loudly as the stereo will let me, to singing to myself, but nothing works. It's terrifying. I don't know how to make Tommy get out of my head, I haven't been able to since the night we met. Am I going to have to live with this for the rest of my life? Am I going to wake up every day and remember the things he said to me in that apartment?

The thought of it is enough to make me wish that truck _had_ hit me.

And _that_ thought is enough to leave me a weeping wreck slumped over the steering wheel by the time Alex's car pulls over in front of mine. He doesn't say a word when he opens the door, he simply reaches past me, undoes my seat belt, and pulls me out of the car and into an almost suffocating hug. We silently stand in the street for who knows how long, until my tears gradually stop and he feels confident that he can let go of me without having me collapse in a useless heap on the ground.

"What the fuck happened?" He asks, his tone much gentler than his choice of words.

"I don't even know." I mutter hopelessly, trying to steady my breathing as I wipe my cheeks. "Everything's so messed up..."

"I take it you're here to see Tommy?" My lips trembles pitifully at the mere mention of his name, and all I can do is nod and try not to start crying all over again. "And something bad happened?"

"I..." I left my wife and kids to be with him, and he, in turn, left me. "I left Natalie last night. I told her that I'm gay and I left her."

"Holy fuck..."

"And I came here, and I told him I wanted to be with him... and I thought he wanted to be with me, too. But..." The events of this morning repeat in my head once again like a broken record, leaving me shaking my head, in capable of finishing my sentence.

Alex frowns, clearly as stunned by the fact that Tommy and I aren't locked away in his apartment together right now as I am. "He didn't?"

"He said he couldn't see it working out." I explain, my voice cracking as I lose my fight to keep more tears at bay. "He said he didn't want to change his life to fit me into it."

"What the _fuck_? Are you serious?"

"He doesn't love me, Alex."

"Bullshit. Did he _say_ that?"

He may not have gotten that all important word out, but if I hadn't begged him not to say it, he would have. He never said he loved me, not _once_ the whole time we were together, but he was ready and willing to say that he didn't.

My grip on Alex's arm tightens, my fingers curling into his jacket. There's a pain in my chest, like nothing I've _ever_ felt before. I'd swear that I'm having a heart attack, but somehow I know that's not what it is at all. There's nothing physically wrong with me, and rushing me to a hospital won't solve anything. It's purely emotional.

"Come on." He wraps an arm around my waist and slams the door of my rental car shut behind me. "Let's get the hell out of here."

I assume that we're going back to his place, so I don't pay a whole lot of attention to where we are as he drives. Not until he pulls over outside of a liquor store. Even that's not too surprising, though, and I'm grateful that he knows what I want right now better than I do. But when he then navigates the car to a McDonalds drive-thru, I'm a little confused; we both hate McDonalds. He orders  "one of those shitty little ice cream thingies" and two ice waters, and it's not until he turns to look at me when we reach the drive-thru window that I realize what he's got in mind.

I can't believe I forgot about this.

Less than an hour later we're parked at a secluded outlook somewhere just outside of Malibu. We used to do this a lot back before we became "friends with benefits" (in fact, I think we had our first drunken kiss somewhere around here). Whenever things with Island Def Jam were really getting me down, which was frequently, despite my best attempts to stay positive, he'd bring me out here and we'd spend _hours_ lying side-by-side on the hood of his car and listening to the gentle roll of the waves on the shore. And he always made sure to stop at a drive-thru somewhere on our way here and get a couple of ice waters, which he would then empty out as soon as we arrived... and refill with tequila. Nothing made my problems disappear quite like sipping Jose Cuervo through a straw and watching seagulls soar overhead.

I'm just not sure that it's going to work this time.

I feel bad that this is all Alex ever seems to see of me. I never wanted to be _that_ friend, the one who is _always_ in need of emotional support for one reason or another. I hate being this miserable, blubbering mess. Even back before Tommy, before I got married, it was always something. Zac, or the record company, or simply the fact that I was a gay guy trapped in a straight, teen idol's life. It feels like history repeating itself.

"Maybe I should call him." He sighs into the quiet around us, apparently in as much denial about all of this as I am.

"Go for it." I mutter, taking the straw between my lips. The liquor burns my throat on its way down, but other than that I'm back to not being able to feel a thing. I want this feeling (or lack of) to last forever. "Tell him I said 'hi'."

I don't need to look at Alex to know that he's rolling his eyes at me. "Don't act like you don't care."

"I'm not. But it doesn't matter if _I_ care or not, _he_ doesn't."

"I don't believe that. Nothing about this makes _any_ fucking sense, there has to be something he's not telling you."

"Believe me, he told me more than I wanted to know." I inform him bitterly, wishing I could erase Tommy's words from my memory entirely.

Maybe if I drink enough tequila...

"But I've _seen_ you together!" He continues to protest vehemently. "And I saw how broken up he was over everything that happened in Tulsa. _Why_ would he have been such a wreck over it if he _didn't_ care?"

I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I want to believe that there's more to this, that Tommy is hiding something from me... but I can't think _what_ he would be hiding that would cause him to lie to me about how he feels. He looked me in the eyes and flat out told me that he didn't love me.

Well... almost.

It still counts.

"All I know is that he doesn't want to be with me. He was _very_ clear on that part. He said that he thought he wanted me, but when he actually got me, he realized that he _didn't_ really want me at all."

Alex apparently doesn't have anything to say to that, which I'll admit is a little disappointing. I want him to keep arguing with me, I want him to keep telling me that this is all stupid. It gives me some small sense of hope that maybe Tommy is just freaking out and acting crazy, and maybe once he's calmed down he'll change his mind.

Except that he seemed perfectly calm when he told me it was over. It wasn't like last time, he wasn't flipping out over an unexpected "I love you", it wasn't some knee-jerk reaction. He'd had time to think about it, he left the apartment and spent hours mulling it over before he confronted me with his true feelings. And really, as much as Alex and I keep insisting that his decision doesn't make sense... the more I think about it, the more sense it's starting to make.

It's kind of the opposite of a "you don't know what you've got 'till it's gone" situation.

No one questions people when they realize how much they actually want something once they've lost it, so why should we question him for realizing that he didn't want something as soon as he finally had it? It's kind of like how River will demand a Toaster Strudel for breakfast, and Penny will _desperately_ want a Poptart instead. But as soon as it's on a plate in front of her, she suddenly decides that she actually wants a Toaster Strudel.

I know that comparing breakfast foods to a breakup is stupid, but I'm a little too buzzed right now to come up with something more profound.

"If that's the case, he's a fucking idiot." Alex eventually concludes. "I kinda want to punch him in the face right now."

"I appreciate the violent support, but it's not gonna change anything."

"No, but anyone who leads a guy on to the point of him leaving his wife, and then dumps him the next fucking day, deserves to get punched in the face _at least_ once."

"Maybe." I concede passively, swilling the tequila around in my plastic cup. "But the guy who left his wife deserves to get punched in the face, also."

"If you ask me, he already has been. Repeatedly."

"Then I guess he got what he deserved."

"We're gonna have to agree to disagree on that one." He argues gently, offering me a small, sympathetic smile as my head lolls against the windshield and my eyes meet his. "I think you deserve to be happy more than anyone else I know, and I think it's fucking _fucked up_ that this is happening to you."

"I just... I _really_ thought he felt the same way, you know?" My voice wavers and my eyes burn with more tears, but I try to blink them into submission as I direct my gaze back to the hazy blue sky above us. "After everything we've been through... I don't _understand_ how he could just wake up and not feel it anymore."

"That's the part where he's either the biggest asshole on the planet, or he's lying."

"Is it possible that it's neither?"

"No."

I know he's trying to be a good friend, and in his mind that means hating Tommy for hurting me. But it doesn't help. I want to hate him, too. I just don't. And right now I don't want to lay here, and get drunk, and talk shit about him. I want to know _why_ this is happening. I want a reason why last night I felt more hopeful and whole than I have at any point in my life before, and now I feel more empty and alone than ever. I want to know what I did wrong, or what I could have done differently.

There _has_ to be _something_.

Because if there isn't, it means that he simply doesn't want _me_.

And I can't fix that.

I need more tequila.

"So... what're you gonna do now?" Alex asks cautiously, watching me as I take a long drink from the straw of my cup. "Do you think you're gonna stay out here?"

"I don't know..."

I haven't been able to keep my mind off of Tommy for long enough to consider my options as far as what to do with the rest of my life. Really, though, it feels like I only have two choices now: stay or go.

I don't _want_ to go back to Tulsa, I don't _want_ to beg Natalie to forgive me and go back to pretending that I'm someone else entirely. But at least I'll have my kids. If I stay here, I'll have nothing. I have no guarantee that I'll be any happier, that I'll feel any better about anything than I did before. I know that's always the case, there are never any guarantees in this life...

But when I had Tommy, it _felt_ like I had a guarantee.

I felt like I would be okay, no matter what.

And now...

"Well, you're more than welcome to crash at my place while you figure it out." He offers selflessly, nudging my arm gently with his elbow. "The couch is pretty comfortable."

"Thanks, Alex. For everything."

"Anytime."

 We spend another couple of hours lounging on his car, until the last traces of the marine layer above us have burned off, and the afternoon sun no longer feels like a warm glow on our skin but instead feels more like a heat lamp aimed directly at us. By that point, he's sobered up enough to drive, and we reluctantly roll off of the hood and begin our journey back to his apartment. Neither of us really speaks as the car winds its way along the quiet back roads of Malibu, the only sound comes from the wheels on the ground. But once we reach Pacific Coast Highway he turns the radio up and winds the windows down, and for one, brief moment I feel free. I close my eyes and I breathe in the salty ocean air, I let the music drown out every thought in my head, and it's as though I'm flying, soaring, and I never want to come back down.

But it's not long before it occurs to me how closely this resembles one of my stupid, pointless fantasies. Only instead of Alex in the car, it's supposed to be Tommy. I dreamed of driving down this highway with him, with the stereo blasting and the wind rushing by, just the two of us...

 _Why_ is this happening? _Why_ is he doing this to me? To _us_?!

I _need_ an answer, and I need it _now_ before not knowing, not understanding, drives me insane!

"I wanna go to Burbank." I declare, surprising not only Alex but myself.

"What?"

"I want to see him." I clarify, ignoring the voice in my head telling me that it's a completely horrible idea. "I need to talk to him."

"Tay..." Alex begins sadly, clearly in agreement with that annoyingly rational inner voice of mine. "Maybe you should just... give it a little time, you know? I'm not saying you shouldn't talk to him, and I'm _definitely_ not saying that you don't deserve some real answers, but-"

"I can't 'give it time', Alex, he's all I can fucking think about! I can't just sit around with him stuck in my head like this, it _hurts_. I want to know _why_. I want to know why he doesn't want me, and I want to know why he let me think that he did for so long! All this 'I didn't know until now' bullshit isn't good enough! I _need_ something else, something _more_. There _has_ to be something more, because this is fucking _killing_ me!"

"What if there isn't anything more?"

"What do you mean?" I frown in confusion, my eyes studying his profile as he stares out at the road ahead.

"I mean... what if he doesn't have anything else to say? Is it really gonna make you feel any better to hear the same shit _again_? To know that he _doesn't_ have a better excuse?"

"He _has_ to-"

"But what if he _doesn't_?"

If he doesn't... then I guess I'm going to be existing in this perpetual state of heartache for the rest of my fucking life. But that's the case whether I talk to him or not, and I honestly don't see how this can get any worse.

Exactly what do I have left to lose?

"I don't care." I insist boldly, trying to convince us both that I'm strong enough to handle whatever might happen next. "If all he has to say is the same thing he told me this morning, I still need to hear it. I _have_ to try, Alex, I need to know."

He heaves a deep sigh, reluctant to give in to my demands and yet resigned to the fact that I'm going to do this whether he drives me there or not. But just as we begin to cut through Malibu Canyon my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out immediately, desperately hoping that the call is from Tommy even though my brain is berating me the whole time for being stupid enough to think that way. And it turns out that I am stupid, because it's not Tommy.

It's Zac.

"Don't answer it." Alex urges me firmly, seeing the familiar face on the screen and obviously sensing my hesitance.

I don't know _why_ I'm hesitating, though. I just have a feeling that this isn't a call I want to receive. But whether or not I want to talk to him, I know that I need to. He wouldn't call me for nothing, if it wasn't important he'd just text me. I can't ignore him, I owe him more than that.

So, with an ever expanding ball of dread in the pit of my stomach, I lift the phone to my ear. "Hey."

"Hey.... you okay? You sound kind of... off."

"It's a long story." I tell him, too tired to go into details right now. He'll find out soon enough. "How about you? Is everything okay?"

"I don't know..." Shit... I know that tone. This isn't good. "I think you need to come home."

"Why, what's going on? Are the kids-"

"The kids are all fine... it's Natalie." He tells me almost remorsefully. "She's in the hospital."


	66. Chapter 66

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not over yet! One more chapter/epilogue-type-thing still to come...

  


  


 

 

 

Hospital?

Natalie is in the hospital?

Is she hurt? Is she sick? Is it just a coincidence, or...

"Taylor?"

Is it my fault?

Was she so upset that she got into an accident like I almost did? Or did she do something...

Did she hurt herself?

No, she _wouldn't_ do that.

Would she?

" _Taylor_!" Zac practically shouts down the phone at me, bringing my spiraling thoughts to a screeching halt and spurring me into action.

"Is she okay?"

"We don't  know yet, Kate only just got her to the ER." He explains, doing his best to sound calm even though I can hear the anxiety in his voice. "The doctor is talking to her now, and Kate said she'd call when she knows more."

"But what _happened_?" I press desperately. "Is she hurt?"

"No... I don't know. I don't _think_ so. I mean... she was in some pain, but..." There's a pause. A long, heavy pause that gives my own fears and concerns plenty of time to multiply. "She was bleeding, Tay."

... What? "Bleeding?"

"Yeah. They think... I mean, they said there's a chance that... she might be having a miscarriage."

A _miscarriage_? But... _how_? I don't understand! "She... she's pregnant?"

"I guess. She didn't know she was, either. And there's still a chance she's not, but... you guys _were_ trying, right?" We were. Right up until the end. Because I'm a fucking _idiot_. "Look, I know this is the worst time _ever_ for this to be happening, but she _is_ still technically your wife, and... she's asking for you."

"S-she is?"

"Yeah. She's pretty scared."

Of course she is. She's wanted a baby for almost a year now, we've been trying for nine months. We've never had this much trouble conceiving before, we've never really had to try at all, it always just _happened_. I know how much it hurt her every time she took a pregnancy test only to have the result come up negative. And now she finds out that she might actually _be_ pregnant, she might have finally gotten her wish... but she might also be about to lose it.

Just like she lost me.

God... what if it's my fault?!

What if _I_ did this to her by leaving the way I did? How likely is it that she suffers a miscarriage within twenty-four hours of her asshole husband declaring that he's gay and leaving her for another guy, and it's completely _un_ related?

 _Fuck_!

Why is this happening?! I don't understand! This whole fucking day makes _no_ fucking sense! Things were supposed to be _better_ , but they just keep getting worse and worse! This morning I woke up thinking it was the first day of the rest of my life,  now I just want to fucking curl up and _die._

I feel like I'm nineteen-years-old all over again.

I'm nineteen-years-old, my whole world is falling apart, I'm losing the things I love most...

And Natalie is pregnant.

I can't handle this. I can't _breathe_.

"Let me out."

"What?"

I can hear the uncertainty in Alex's tone, but there's absolutely _none_ in mine. "Let me out!"

"Tay, we're in the middle of a fucking _canyon_! There's nowhere to pull over, I can't just-"

"Let me _out_!" I shout at him desperately, repeatedly, choking back sobs of panic and distress as I squeeze my phone in my hand until I'm sure it's about to shatter into pieces.

Somewhere in my mind I'm aware that I never finished my conversation with Zac. I don't even know if he's still on the line, listening to all of this and wishing I'd talk to him. But I can't talk. I can barely draw breath right now, there's not enough air in this car, not even with the windows down!

I feel trapped.

On some level I know that being in this car isn't the reason. I'm not trapped in a moving vehicle, I'm trapped in my own life. Although, sometimes it feels like the same thing. My life is a speeding, out of control car, careening down the freeway with no driver at the wheel while I sit in the passenger seat and watch helplessly. And the one fucking time I tried to reach over and change the direction it was going in, it ruined _everything_.

The second Alex finally pulls over on the first turnout he can find, I throw the door open and practically fall out of the car. My feet slip on the dusty, sandy ground beneath me as I stagger forwards, until eventually I end up on my knees, mercilessly beating my iPhone into the dirt. I feel it begin to break apart in my hand, I feel something sharp pierce my skin, I see blood escaping from beneath my white-knuckle grip, and I hear myself screaming in agony... but I don't _feel_ anything.

It's not until my cries have died down to nothing more than hopeless whimpering, and the remains of my phone have been cast over the guard rail and into the canyon that Alex approaches me. I hear his footsteps, understandably hesitant and slow, and then he crouches down beside me, placing a gentle hand on my shaking shoulders. When I don't immediately shrug him off, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him.

"It's okay." He tries to assure me, even though it doesn't sound like he believes it at all. "Whatever's going on, we'll figure it out."

How?

 _How_ am I supposed to figure this out? I have _no_ fucking idea what's going on, my whole life is in shambles. I don't know what to think or feel, I don't know what I want, I don't know what to _do_!

"She's pregnant." I somehow manage to get out in between body-wracking sobs. "Natalie's pregnant."

"Fuck."

"S-she's in the hospital. They think... they think she's having a miscarriage..."

He doesn't _say_ that maybe it's for the best, but I know he's thinking it. Some small part of me thinks the same thing, but that just makes the rest of me even angrier at myself than I already was. No matter what else is happening in my life, no matter how messed up and painful it may be, my children never have been and never will be something I would wish away. Whether I wanted to be with Natalie or not, if she's carrying our child, if she's _losing_ our child, that _matters_ to me.

I didn't know I had anything left to lose at this point, and on top of everything else... it's just too much.

"I don't know what to say." He admits sadly, rubbing my back soothingly as my tears soak his t-shirt. "I'm sorry."

"What should I do, Alex? What the _fuck_ am I supposed to _do_?"

I was hoping he would have all of the answers, or at least a suggestion or two, but I'm not surprised to learn that he doesn't. This kind of think doesn't happen to him, he has no experience with chaos on this scale. Normal people make mistakes, they have lapses in judgment. What _I_ do is on a whole other level entirely. I've made fucking up into an art form, I can do it in ways that other people only have nightmares about. I've been doing it my whole life.

But  this day... it's _unparalleled_.

Twelve hours ago I was in heaven.

Now I'm in hell.

"Just... come back to my place, okay?" He urges me. "Come on."

"I can't." I shake my head forlornly, struggling to slow my breathing as I wipe my tears on the back of my hand. "I have to go back to Tulsa."

"No, you don't. Not right now, anyway."

"What's the point of putting it off?" He follows my example as I push myself up off of the ground, his arms steadying me when I sway on weak and wobbly legs. "My family needs me _now_ , I have no excuse not to go."

"What about what _you_ need, Taylor? For the first time in your whole goddamn life, you were _finally_ trying to put your needs first-"

"Yeah, and look where it got me!" I shout back at him, my voice breaking with yet more impeding tears as I gesture to the lonely precipice around us. "Look at me, Alex! Yesterday I had a wife, and four children, and a family that loved me. I had a life. Now I have _nothing_. I don't even have a fucking change of clothes!"

At the mention of clothes, I remember the fact that I couldn't find my t-shirt this morning. I couldn't find it because Tommy was wearing it, so I borrowed one of his. My gaze drops to the black fabric covering my chest as my fingers reach up and gingerly touch the faded white logo in the center. I'm torn between hating him so much that I want to rip it off of my body and throw it into the canyon along with my phone, and loving him so much that I want to hold it to my face so that I can breathe in whatever might be left of his scent.

It's so fucking pathetic.

"I _miss_ him..." I murmur, mostly to myself. But I can tell from the comforting hand that Alex just placed on my shoulder that he heard me loud and clear.

"So let's go see him, like you wanted to."

I shake my head faintly. I don't have the strength left, and even if I did... there's no point. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just... can't. I can't do it. I can't go and beg him to take me back while Natalie's lying in a hospital somewhere possibly losing our baby! What am I even supposed to say to him? 'Please, please, _please_ un-dump me, and then hold that thought while I fly to another state to see my potentially pregnant ex-wife?'" I propose sarcastically. "I mean... doesn't all of this seem like some kind of sign that I _shouldn't_ have ever left in the first place?"

"I don't believe in signs." He informs me stubbornly. "I don't believe in destiny, or fate, or God, or any of that bullshit. It's all just an excuse for people to sit back and do nothing while life fucks them over. Sometimes shit happens that we can't control, it just _does_. That doesn't mean we have no control over what we do next. You have a choice-"

"This _is_ my choice."

"To go back?"

I wish he didn't sound so disappointed, like this is somehow an affront to him personally. "Yes."

"Taylor-"

"Look... I get it, Alex. I know you want me to leave, you've wanted me to do it since I was eighteen. You think I should just be out and proud, and live my life the way I want to, to hell with everyone else. But... I can't. I'm just _not_ that person."

"You were last night." He reminds me almost pleadingly.

"Yeah, well, last night I thought I had a good reason to be."

"You still do! _You_ have to be your own reason, Taylor!"

I laugh softly, bitterly. It's quite possibly the funniest thing I've heard all day. "That's a big problem. 'Cause I can tell you right now, I'm _never_ going to be."

"So you lost Tommy and now you think you have _no_ shot at ever being happy or falling in love again, is that it?"

"It took me almost thirty years to find him, to meet someone who I didn't only love, but who made me believe that maybe I could have something _more_. Who made me think I was _worth_ something more. And he just fucking _dumped_ me, Alex! And yeah, okay, I can crash on your couch indefinitely, and spend my nights trawling bars in West Hollywood, desperately hoping to meet someone else who might be able to make me feel even a _fraction_ of what I felt for him... but I don't _want_ that. I don't want to risk my _children_ for that."

He sighs sadly, all out of fight and reconciled to the fact that he can't get me to surrender this time. "I think you're making a huge mistake."

I'm sure I am; it's what I do.

I half expect him to ditch me in the canyon and drive away as some kind of protest against taking me to the airport. Just because he can't change my mind, that doesn't mean he has to facilitate this mistake he believes I'm making. But he does, because he's pretty much the most amazing friend I could ever hope to have. He even offers to park the car and walk me into the terminal rather than just dropping me off at departures, but I decline.

I just need to get this over with.

"Are you _sure_ you wanna do this?"

I don't want to, but I have to. "Yeah."

"Promise me you'll call me?"

"I will." I nod, reluctantly unbuckling my seat belt. "I'll try to find a payphone at the hospital and-"

"No, I don't just mean call to let me know you got back safely. I mean... at all." He sighs sadly as his eyes meet mine. He looks almost afraid, and I get the feeling it's taking everything he has to stop himself from basically kidnapping me right now. Anything to keep me from getting on a plane back to Tulsa. "I just... I can't shake the feeling that I'm not gonna see you again."

I guess I'm not the only one this feels all too familiar for. "I'll call. I _promise_."

After holding my stare for a minute, he seems somewhat satisfied that I'm sincere, and he leans across the gearshift and pulls me into a tight hug. "I'm _so_ sorry, Taylor."

"Me, too."

"If you change your mind, ever, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Alex."

I'm certain that I will change my mind. Every day, probably more times than I can count. But I know nothing will ever come of it. And eventually I'll just... accept it.

Eventually I won't be able to remember the sound of his voice, or his laugh, or the way he smells, or tastes. I won't remember how many different hues of brown and gold there are in his eyes, or the way his lips feel on my skin. It'll be like some dream I once had, fuzzy in my memory and impossible to fully recall. It won't play any part in my reality. And maybe, some day, it won't hurt anymore.

At least, that's what I'm hoping...

The flight back to Tulsa seems a lot shorter than it ever has before, and I've taken this route enough times to know. Despite the fact I've made the choice to do this, and it was my decision to leave Los Angeles so soon, that doesn't mean I'm eager to be back here. In fact, even though I'm not sitting anywhere near the back of the plane, I'm still the last one off. And the only reason I get out of my seat at all is because one of the flight attendants comes over and asks me if I'm okay, in that fake polite way that really screams "get out of your damn seat so we can pack another plane full of over-paying passengers in here!"

I make my way slowly up the boarding ramp and through the terminal, wishing that Tulsa was a bigger city and therefore had a bigger airport. But in less than ten minutes I'm out in the parking lot, right where I was last night. I left my car, not even thinking for a second about the ridiculous parking (and possibly towing) fees I would incur by abandoning it here indefinitely. I didn't care, I just wanted to be with Tommy and everything else was meaningless. It could wait, I would deal with it whenever I was forced to. All that mattered was getting on a plane and going to where he was.

I _never_ expected that I'd be back again so soon.

And I never expected that the first place I'd be going when I got here was the hospital. I _hate_ hospitals. I know that's normal, I mean... what's to like? Well, I guess the nursery on the maternity ward doesn't suck. But the rest of it is just one big, white, sterile, badly lit level of hell. Even the coffee is shit. But I've never visited a hospital and felt _guilty_ before. I've experienced possibly every other emotion you can think of, but not guilt.

It's hard not to blame myself for this, though.

I'm relieved to see that the only people in Natalie's room when I cautiously open the door are Zac and Kate. And Kate is the only one present who _doesn't_ look relieved to see me, which is completely understandable; I hurt her best friend. I lied to her for years, I left her without warning, and I broke her heart. She probably holds me as responsible for Natalie being here as I do.

For the longest moment, there's nothing but awkward silence in the room. I don't want to say "hi", it feels stupid and wrong. But I don't know where else to start, and apparently they all feel the same. Except maybe Kate, who I'm sure can think of plenty of things to say to me right now but is keeping her mouth shut for her friend's sake.

"Sorry it took me so long to get here." I eventually manage to say. "I came as soon as I could."

At least I'm not opening with a lie.

"Come on," Zac holds his hand out to Kate, who grudgingly accepts it and allows him to pull her towards the door. "We'll go get some coffee."

"Thanks."

He gives my arm a compassionate squeeze on his way past (and his wife balances it out with a scathing glare), and then it's just me and Natalie, alone again.

"You came back." She sniffles tearfully, a small smile curling her trembling lips. "I wasn't sure if you would."

"Of course I did."

"I'm _so_ sorry, Taylor." Wait... _she's_ sorry? _I'm_ the asshole. I'm the one that should be apologizing, not her. "I didn't mean what I said last night. I don't hate you and I _never_ wanted you to leave."

"You have _nothing_ to be sorry for." I insist earnestly, taking a few steps closer to her hospital bed. "I wouldn't blame you if you did hate me. You _should_ , I deserve it."

"I'm just glad you're here." She cries softly, holding her hand out to me. "I was so, _so_ scared and I missed you so much."

If I was a good husband (and we all know I'm not), I wouldn't hesitate to go over there and hold her hand tightly in mine. I'd tell her that everything is going to be okay, that I'm here for her, that I'll never leave her again.

But I _do_ hesitate.

Not for long, probably no more than a second, maybe two. She doesn't seem to notice, but I do. It feels like minutes to me, like time stands still. If I go over there and take her hand, I can't let go again. I guess I knew that when I came back here, but being in this room with her... there's no turning back.

For better or for worse.

"It's gonna be okay." I tell her as confidently as I can, wrapping my fingers around hers as she clasps my hand and holds on for dear life. "Whatever happens, we'll make it work."

"Did you talk to the doctor?"

"No, I just came straight here when they told me what room you were in. Have they told you anything?"

Again, it feels as though the world is on pause or moving in slow motion. It seems like it takes forever for her to respond to my question, but I know it's all in my head. In reality, it's only a split second before the smile spreads across her face and her eyes fall to her hospital-gown-covered belly.

"The baby's okay." She breathes thankfully, turning her tearful gaze back to my face. "They want to keep me in overnight, just to be safe. And they want me to get regular check-ups so they can keep an eye on things, but the doctor said that as long as I'm careful everything should be fine."

It isn't hard for me to muster a genuine smile in return; I never wanted anything bad to happen to her or the baby. And if this is the life I'm choosing, and everything is going to go back to the way it was before, then this is a good thing. It's what she wanted, it's what will make her happy.

She deserves to be happy.

"You're going to stay, aren't you?" She asks hopefully, her glassy eyes searching mine. "You won't leave us?"

"I won't leave you."

"Because I _can't_ do this without you, I don't know _how_. Today was the absolute _worst_ day of my life, I've never felt so alone."

"I know. Me either." I reply honestly, but I still feel like a liar because I wasn't miserable and lonely for the reasons I'm letting her believe. "I'm _so_ sorry I put you through all of this, Nat."

"It doesn't matter now; as long as you're here, everything will be okay. We can fix this together, I _know_ we can."

I don't know that we can 'fix' it, but I'm certain that I can fake it; I have a lifetime of practice.

I'll play the doting husband, I'll go to every doctor's appointment and I won't bat an eyelash at whatever she decides to buy for the baby. If she wants to buy a bigger house, we'll do it. If she wants to bring all the kids on tour, I'll let her. Whatever it takes to keep that smile on her face and convince her that all I care about is our family and her happiness.

Although, there's no doubt in my mind that I'll be attending some form of therapy after this; there's no way we can just ignore the fact that I told her I'm gay. She's going to want me to talk to someone, just like she suggested last night. And I'll do it, if that's what it takes to keep the peace and make amends. I'll go to some stranger and tell them my deepest darkest secrets. And they'll try to convince me that I'm straight, that I can control my "unnatural urges", or whatever bullshit term they use for it. It won't make a damn bit of difference, but I'll pretend that it does. I'll come home after every session and tell her that it's going well, that I feel better, and eventually she'll believe that I'm "cured".

We'll go on with our lives as though this day never happened.

And I'll try my hardest to forget him.


	67. Chapter 67

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place at the Sunset Junction Street Festival which Hanson were supposed to perform at in 2011, but it was cancelled at the last minute. :p In this universe, it wasn't cancelled. lol
> 
>  
> 
> Well, folks, this is it! I know it's been a loooooong ride, and I am SO thankful to everyone for sticking with it for so long, even if some of you found it more and more difficult to sympathize with the boys and care if they ended up together or not. I understand the frustration; I know it was an exhausting ride.
> 
> <3

  


  


 

 

 

_ Los Angeles, California  - August 28th, 2011 _

_  
_

It's a girl.

Obviously, she hasn't been born yet; Nat is only four months pregnant. But we had an ultrasound at her doctor's appointment last week, and the technician said that the baby was in a perfect position for her to be able to tell us the sex if we wanted to know. We both just assumed it was another boy because Natalie said that she felt different when she was pregnant with Penny, and everyone and their dog has had an opinion on what her symptoms mean and they've all concluded that it's _definitely_ a boy.

But it's not. We're having a little girl.

Nat is over the moon about it, obviously. She and Kate have already decided that our baby and Junia are going to be best friends just like their mothers (whether they like each other or not). It feels like she comes home with a new baby outfit every other day of the week, I'm not even exaggerating. But it's okay, I don't mind, and I'm certainly not going to complain or protest. I want to give this little girl everything just as badly as Natalie does. I want to give _all_ of my kids the world, their happiness is my number one priority.

It always should have been.

It's kind of become a resolution for me, it's how I live my life. My children are everything to me. Not that they weren't before, but now I'm making a hell of a lot more of an effort to _show_ it. I spend less time at work and more time at home, regardless of how claustrophobic I feel in that house. It doesn't matter; I force myself to take a breath and I remind myself that how I feel _isn't_ what's important, _they_ are. It helps. Kind of.

Therapy, on the other hand, doesn't.

As predicted, Natalie wanted me to see someone about my "problem", and I let her hand pick that someone for me because it really didn't matter to me who I spoke to. We've been on a fruitless search through my entire childhood, looking for the root cause of these "undesirable feelings" I have. But since no one ever abused me, and I refuse to tell him about Zac, the guy is at a loss to figure out why I am the way I am. He's still determined to help me "overcome" it, though. And I play along, even though I know he can't do anything about it.

No one can.

                                                   

I'm _never_ going to be straight, no matter how much therapy I have, or how many self-help books I read, or how many times I look in the mirror each morning and assure myself that I can live a "normal" life and have "healthy" thoughts about other men. But I _can_ pretend, that much I know. I'm becoming an expert at compartmentalizing, shutting down parts of my mind that aren't helpful to my day to day existence. I think, therefore I am.

Or... I don't think, therefore I'm not.

You get the point.

Things between Natalie and I are pretty much the same way they've always been. They're not perfect, but she seems happy and I... I'm okay. I'm not blissfully happy, but I don't expect to be. I'm not miserable, most days anyway, and I figure that's more than I have a right to ask for.

There have been a couple of occasions over the last couple of months where I've flat out told her that I feel like she deserves better, that I want her to _have_ better. But each time she simply shakes her head, takes my face in her hands, looks me in the eyes, and tells me that she doesn't _want_ anything or anyone else. She wants me. God knows why, after everything I've put her through, but she does. And I want...

Honestly, I just want to be content.

I _desperately_ want nothing more than to feel some kind of peace. I thought that meant following my heart, but all that following my heart seemed to do was hurt everyone I love. It _definitely_ didn't lead to any form of happiness or contentment, not for me _or_ for them. When I went looking for something more than I already had, I almost lost everything. Which is why I've resolved to focus on my family from now on, my children. I'm so blessed to be their father, to be able to wake up every day and watch them grow, and I took that for granted before.

My children love me, and I love them. It's the most unconditional, uncomplicated, unbreakable love I've ever experienced.

 Maybe it's the only love I ever needed, and I was just too blinded by selfish misery to see it before.

"Daddy, how much longer?" Penny whines impatiently, tugging on my hand as though I somehow have the power to make the line in front of us shorter.

"Not long now, baby." I assure her with a smile. "I bet we'll be the next ones on when the ride stops."

"We've been waiting _forever_!" Insists River.

"Yeah." His big brother agrees, sighing dramatically. "Ferris wheels are dumb, I wanna go on the swing ride!"

"Well, it was your sister's turn to choose, and she wants to go on this one." Natalie reminds him as we share small, frazzled smiles. "Viggo, sweetie, do you need to go potty?"

Sure enough, our youngest is doing his "potty dance" at her side, and eagerly nods in response to the question. She tells me that they'll be right back, pecking my cheek before leading Viggo away through the crowds of fair-goers in search of a porta-potty. I watch them go, the fond smile on my lips fading slightly into one of momentary melancholy.

Our fall tour starts in five days, this festival is kind of an unofficial "kick off", and our wives and kids are going to be on the road with us for the first three weeks or so, until the tour rolls into Tulsa. That's their stop. And I'm glad they're joining us; it was actually my idea for them to come this time. All part of my on-going efforts to be... better. A better father and a better husband. A better human being in general. I've been trying _so_ damn hard.

But being here in L.A.... it's difficult not to think of him.

At home, it's easier. I can throw myself into my music and my family. He's a thousand miles away, out of sight, (mostly) out of mind. I don't let myself dwell on him, I force myself to stop. And thanks to my destructive flip-out in the canyon, and the resulting death of my old iPhone, I don't have his number anymore so I couldn't call him even if I wanted to. It definitely lessens the temptation and makes any sudden urges to hear his voice short-lived. But this is the first time I've been back to Los Angeles since he broke up with me, and as was always the case before, _knowing_ he's only a few miles away is like some kind of tug on my insides. It's like my heart is a magnet, and he's the most powerful pull I've ever known.

Just thinking about how close he is makes it a little harder to breathe. He may as well be standing right in front of me.

"Tommy!" River's gleeful shout stops my heart. "Daddy, look!"

No.

I don't _want_ to look.

And even if I wanted to, my body is paralyzed by fear right now, so I _can't_.

I want to believe that River's mistaken. He saw someone that looked like Tommy, but it's _not_ Tommy. I need it to not be him, because I'm in no way, shape, or form prepared to come face-to-face with him. I didn't think I was ever going to see him again, I'm not _supposed_ to, so he _can't_ be here.

But he is.

When I finally turn to look in the direction that River is wildly waving, I see him. He appears just as uncomfortable about this meeting as I feel, but not quite as surprised. And, of course, he looks incredible, and I hate him for it. This was already bad enough, but it's worse when he's walking around looking like _that_.

At first I'm so caught up in him that I don't notice anything else. But as my eyes slowly take in everything about him, they're drawn to the hand that's holding his. It takes my brain a moment to process this information, my mind is stuck in "cannot compute" mode for the longest time. It doesn't want to accept that he's with someone, even when I'm being presented with blatant proof that he is.

And that someone isn't unfamiliar.

"Taylor, hey!" Liz beams at me, excitedly pulling Tommy over to us. He allows her to lead him through the crowd, but it's obvious from his demeanor that he'd rather run in the opposite direction. "I thought I heard that you guys were playing here this weekend! How are you?"

She lets go of Tommy's hand just long enough to hug me, and I manage to force a small smile and half-heartedly return the friendly embrace. "I'm pretty good, thanks. Just hanging out with my kids before our set tonight."

"These are your kids?" She asks, pulling back a little to pay proper attention to who I'm with.

"Three quarters of them, anyway. The youngest is with my wife."

"Well they're _adorable_!"

"Say hi, guys."

"Hi!" Penny chirps brightly, looking up at Tommy with inquisitive eyes. "Is she your girlfriend?"

That question isn't nearly as funny  now as it was when she asked it about his Exorcist tattoo, and apparently he's at somewhat of a loss as to how he should respond. Lucky for him, Liz doesn't give him the chance to anyway.

"I'm Liz."

"You're pretty!"

"Thank you!" Liz laughs softly as the two of them grin at each other. "So are you! I love your sparkly TOMS!"

"Thanks! My Mommy got them for me."

Next thing she knows, Liz is under interrogation from my children. Some people have no sense of personal space, but my kids (like most pre-teens) have no boundaries. She's being asked about her nose ring, and her boots, and why she's holding Tommy's hand, and which rides she's been on, and whether she likes cotton candy.

And Tommy and I are just... staring.

I want to stop, I _know_ I should, but as long as he's looking at me I _can't_ look away. I don't know what this is, what he's thinking or feeling. I don't even know what _I'm_ thinking or feelings. It's the strangest, most protracted sixty seconds of my life. And I'm convinced that the only reason we finally break eye contact is because of the commotion as people start to get off of the ride directly behind us.

"Daddy, can Tommy come on the ferris wheel with us?" Pleads River like it's the most important thing he's ever asked for. " _Please_?"

"Uh..."

"Sorry, dude, I can't." Tommy tells him apologetically. "I hate ferris wheels."

"No one _hates_ ferris wheels!" Penny protests with a giggle.

"I do! They go _way_ too high!"

Liz smirks at him, slipping her hand back into his and giving it a comforting squeeze. "You wouldn't think he was such a delicate flower just by looking at him, would you?"

"Nope." I shake my head, offering her a tight smile. "He's definitely full of surprises."

"Well, it was great to see you again. We should totally get together sometime and work on some song ideas, I had _so_ much fun at Fools Banquet."

Me and Tommy's girlfriend writing songs together? No thanks. "Yeah, we'll have to set something up."

Just when I stupidly think that this nightmare is coming to an end and I'm seconds away from returning to my relatively peaceful, untroubled reality, Natalie reappears beside me with Viggo perched on her hip and a hesitant smile on her face.

"Hi." She greets us, her cheerful yet curious tone making it clear that she'd like to be introduced.

Fuck my life.

"Hey..." How I went from enjoying a family friendly fair with my kids to confronting one of my biggest fears is a mystery to me, but I guess there's no getting out of this one. I just need to remember how to breathe and try not to scream... "Nat, this is Liz... and that's Tommy." I tell her awkwardly, silently praying that if there is a God he'll strike me down with a random lightning bolt so that I won't have to stand here and watch my wife make small talk with the guy I left her for. "They were at Fools Banquet this year."

"Nice to meet you." She nods at them with a genuine grin.

"You, too." Liz smiles enthusiastically. "You have such a beautiful family."

"Thank you! They're a handful, but I'm pretty fond of them." Natalie coos proudly, instinctively placing her hand over her slightly swollen belly.

She's only just started to show, and lately she seems to _only_ wear shirts that accentuate her barely there bump. Usually I don't mind at all, but today I wish she'd worn something baggier. That one, small movement was enough to drawn both Liz and Tommy's attention to her stomach, and it only takes a second before Liz gasps in surprise.

"This might be a totally rude question, but... are you pregnant?"

Nat nods excitedly. "Due in January."

"Congratulations!"

"Yeah... congrats." Tommy choruses with notably less sincerity, unable to force more than a flicker of a smile. "Looks like you guys are well on your way to getting your own reality show."

Nice.

"Oh, no, I don't think so." Laughs Natalie good-naturedly, oblivious to the jab he just made at her. "I mean, I'm not opposed to having more kids, but I don't want them growing up with cameras following their every move."

"Yeah, 'cause _that_ would be excessive."

What the hell is his problem? I wish I could flat out ask him, but doing so in front of my wife and kids (and his girlfriend) probably isn't the smartest idea. No one else seems to be aware of his pissy attitude, but I know him. I can hear the disdain in his voice and see it in his eyes.

 "Well, it looks like the line's moving." Natalie notes apologetically. "It was nice to meet you both."

"You, too. Have fun on the ferris wheel, guys!" Liz waves to our kids as Tommy briefly does the same before promptly leading her away in the direction they came from.

"They seemed nice."

"Yeah..." I murmur distractedly, shuffling forwards along with the rest of the people in line while my mind stays behind, stuck in that moment.

I don't _get_ him.

Not that this feeling is anything new at this point; it's like he woke up that morning a totally different person from the one I fell in love with. His words and actions made no sense, they contradicted everything he'd said and done until that point. And now he's acting like _I_ did something wrong, even though he's the one who left _me_! What right does he have to behave like that? It's like he's angry that Nat and I are still married, and disappointed that we're having a baby. But he has no place judging me or the way I choose to live my life after _he_ decided that he didn't want to be part of it anymore.

Was I supposed to pine over him forever? Would that have made him feel special? Did he hope to run into me one day and find me a sad, broken, shell of a person? No wife, no kids, no career. Nothing without him. And instead he found the exact opposite, so now he's pissed off?

That's not fucking fair!

As hard as I try not to let his attitude get to me, I spend the rest of the day with his scathing words and pointed looks weighing heavy on my mind. I can't even get them out of my head during our show. And the more I think about it, the more irritated I become. I even start snapping at people who have done absolutely _nothing_ to deserve it, which just makes me even angrier! I don't want to take out my frustration on innocent bystanders, I want to take it out on _him_.

Which is why I end up sneaking out of our hotel room in the middle of the night and taking a cab over to his apartment.

It's incredibly strange being back here; I really didn't think that I would ever have cause to come anywhere near this place again. Part of me thinks I shouldn't even be here now...

But I want answers. I _need_ answers.

After taking a moment or two to work up the courage to knock, formulating the perfect opening line in my head while I try to steady my heartbeat, I raise my hand and rap my knuckles on the door. I'm not worried about waking him, I've never known him to fall asleep this early. Not unless we were falling asleep together.

That thought leaves me so preoccupied with my memories that my perfect opening line is lost by the time the door swings open and I find myself standing in front of him for the second time today. Just like before, he doesn't seem all that surprised to see me. But he doesn't seem happy about it, either. I wish I could remember what it was I was going to say to him. I wish I could remember _any_ words in the English language at all, but I just... can't.

"What're you doing here?" He asks unwelcomingly, and if I'm not mistaken he even pulls the door a little further closed. You know, just in case I was under the foolish assumption that he might want me here.

In a split second, the anger that propelled me to come here in the first place is coursing through my veins all over again. "I'm here because I want to know what your problem is."

" _My_ problem?"

"You were a total jerk to Natalie today-"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that I was supposed to be best pals with the wife of the guy I used to fuck."

_The guy I used to fuck._

Is that what I am now? Is that all I _ever_ was?

"You could have been _civil_ at least, you didn't have to treat her like a fucking idiot." I shout back at him furiously. "If you wanna treat me like nothing, that's fine, whatever. Even though _I'm_ not the one who ended this. But-"

"What do you want? An apology? Is that why you're here?"

"No, I don't want an apology! I want a _reason_! I want to know why you were acting like that, why you were so pissed off when you found out that we're having a baby-"

"I'm _not_ pissed off."

"Bullshit!"

"I'm not! I think it's fucking ridiculous, and I think the world is already overpopulated enough without you two procreating like the future of the human race depends on it-"

"You're doing it again!" I cut him off heatedly. "I _know_ that's not why you're upset, so just tell me what the hell you're so angry about!"

"I'm _not_ angry, Taylor! I don't give a shit what you do, I've moved on."

"Yeah, I noticed. I guess you must have realized that you _did_ want to be with Liz right around the same time you realized you didn't want to be with me, huh? So much for all that 'she's not my type' crap."

He sighs wearily, resting his forehead against the edge of the door for a second before replying. "We're just... hanging out."

"Right."

"Why do you fucking care?! You're back playing happy families with Natalie anyway!"

"What the hell did you expect me to do, Tommy?! You _dumped_ me out of _nowhere_! I would have stayed if you'd wanted me to, but you didn't!"

"No, you would have left me, and we both fucking _know_ it!" He suddenly yells, leaving me more than a little taken aback. "I did the math, Taylor, she was already pregnant when you came here. And the second she called and told you that you were gonna be a dad again, you would've hightailed it back to Tulsa!"

"That's not true." I object weakly, shaking my head in denial even though I honestly don't know _what_ I would have done.

"It's what you _did_! Look me in the eyes and tell me it's not!"

I can't. He's right, it basically _is_ what I did.

But it's different!

"We were already over! I had no reason not to go back! And what the hell does it matter to you what I do anyway? _Why_ are you so fucking upset that I went back to her after _you_ broke up with me?!"

"I'm not upset!" He maintains adamantly, despite the fact that everything about him screams otherwise. "I'm not even fucking surprised; it was only a matter of time before you went crawling back. I was never gonna be enough."

What the... "Enough for what? I don't even know what you're talking about-"

"Enough for _you_!"

I'm so utterly and entirely lost right now. I feel as though we're not even having the same conversation anymore! "You _were_ enough for me. You were _more_ than enough. I don't..." I give a helpless shake of my head, my gaze trained on him, studying his apparent inability to look me in the eyes. " _I_ was the one who wasn't enough, remember? You wanted something different, you wanted to be happy, and _I_ wasn't enough. That's what _you_ said, Tommy."

"I _know_ what I said." He snaps defensively, turning away from me and stalking back into his apartment while I stand in complete confusion just outside the door.

I wish I had some clue what's going on in his head right now, but I don't. First he's saying he doesn't care what I do, then he's mad at me for going back to Natalie, and now _he's_ acting like _I_ betrayed him somehow, like it was _my_ choice to leave _him_ when it was the exact opposite! And all this crap about him not being enough makes no sense!

"You were the only thing that had _ever_ been enough to make me walk away from them."

"But it wouldn't have lasted." He continues to protest as I take a few steps into the apartment. "Whether you left because of the baby, or because you woke up one day and realized that you'd given up _way_ more than you'd gained-"

"Why are you putting this on _me_?! What happened between us was _never_ about what I wanted or what I might have regretted! It was _your_ decision to end this; _you_ didn't love _me_!"

Again, he refuses to look at me, but this time I can feel the guilt coming off of him in waves so strong that, when they finally hit me, they leave me reeling. It takes another moment or two of standing in silence with him, taking in all of the things he's _not_ saying, before I finally understand.

I finally see the truth.

"You lied." I murmur, stunned and still incredibly bewildered. "You... you lied to me?"

His lack of a response is the only answer I need, and I'm struck by the sudden urge to sit down in case I fall down. Unfortunately, I can't remember how to move my legs, so I just... stand here, staring at him in total shock.

I can't believe he lied to me!

I know I have no room to talk; I've been lying for almost as long as I've been alive. There isn't one person in my life that I've ever told the truth to at every turn, not even him. But I never thought he'd lie to me about something like _this_.

"Did... did you love me?"

As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I regret asking it. I'm not sure I want to know the answer, because either way it's going to hurt. And judging by the way he's _still_ avoiding my eyes, his inked arms folded protectively over his chest, it seems as though he's as reluctant to say it as I am to hear it. But no matter what his reply is, I _need_ to know.

I give him a few seconds longer, watching as he clenches his jaw in what I initially assume is frustration. But just when my patience runs out and open my mouth to demand an answer, he finally looks up at me. And the telltale tears in his eyes render me speechless.

"Too much."

Too much? What the hell does that even _mean_? He loved me too much to be with me? He loved me too much to ever once _tell me_ that he loved me? He loved me so damn much that he couldn't help but run me out of his life completely?!

"That doesn't make _any_ fucking sense! If you love someone, you don't do what you did!"

"You do if you believe it's better for them! If all you can see is them losing their kids because of you and being fucking _miserable_ -"

"It was _my_ choice, Tommy! You think I wasn't aware of what I was doing? That I didn't lay awake every fucking night going over and over _every_ worst case scenario I could possibly come up with? And I _still_ wanted to be with you! You had _no_ goddamn right to do this! You should've talked to me-"

"What good would it have done? You wouldn't have listened to me!" He accuses vehemently. "You would've convinced me that everything would work out, and I would've believed it because I _wanted_ it to be true so fucking badly. But it wasn't! It wouldn't have worked-"

"You're wrong."

"Okay, fine, so say I _had_ come home and talked to you that morning, and I'd told you everything I was thinking, and you'd talked me out of ending it. Then Natalie calls you up the next day, or the next week, or the next month and tells you that she's pregnant. What do you do?" Fuck! This isn't fair! I don't have an answer for this question, and he fucking _knows_ it, I can see it in his eyes. "Do you tell her that it doesn't change anything? That you'll up her child support payments to compensate, and P.S. you'd love a copy of the sonogram picture? Or do you spend every fucking waking moment thinking about the fact that your kid is going to be born on the other side of the country, and that you won't be there for its first words, or first steps, and _hating_ yourself for it?"

He's right. He knows me too well. I wouldn't have been able to just shrug something like that off and carry on with my life like it wasn't happening. I _would_ have spent countless hours dwelling on it and wondering if I'd made the right choice, regardless of how much I loved him.

"But that doesn't mean I would have _left_ you!"

"No, but you would've resented me! Some part of you would've blamed me for the fact that you were missing out on all of that stuff, and that you didn't get to be with your kids every day. Or you would've resented yourself for choosing me, and you would've been fucking miserable, and sooner or later everything would've fallen apart!"

I'm so close to screaming right now, I feel as though I'm drowning in my own exasperation! I can't believe he did this. I can't believe he took what we had a threw it away based on nothing more than an assumption, a _guess_ about what our future _might_ hold.

"You couldn't know that, Tommy!"

"I couldn't _risk_ it! I didn't want to lose you but that's _all_ I could see happening, one way or another! I figured that at least you still had a shot at getting your kids back if I just let you go-"

"You didn't _let_ me go, you _forced_ me to! You didn't ask me what I wanted, you made the decision for me!"

"That's not fucking true! You still had a choice, you didn't have to go back, but clearly that was your first instinct!"

"Because I didn't think I had a good enough reason not to!"

"You didn't; _I_ wasn't a good enough reason, that's the point!"

I can't handle this! I don't know how to _start_! We're just talking in circles and going nowhere, it's making my head spin to the point where I don't even know what to say anymore. His confession has thrown me, and his arguments are confusing me, and I just... I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to _do_ with all of this!

What is there to be done?

It's too late now.

"You know what the point is, Tommy? I loved you, and I wanted to be with you. We could have had something really fucking _incredible_ , we already did, but you threw it away because you were too damn afraid to even _try_. You never gave us a chance!"

"You think I'm not painfully fucking aware of that?! I've regretted it _every_ fucking day, I can't stop thinking about everything I did and wondering what would have happened if I hadn't done it!"

"I guess neither of us will ever know now, will we?"

With that terse remark I turn on my heel and storm out of his apartment, leaving him alone to dwell on those harsh parting words along with everything else that's just been said between us. But the closer I get to the stairs, and the further I get from him, the faster my furious state begins to dissipate. I expected to be angry at him for a hell of a lot longer than a mere twenty seconds, I honestly wasn't sure how I was ever going to forgive him.

But all I feel right now is regret and guilt.

I have the memory of our last few moments together burned into my mind. The wounded look in his eyes, the waver in his voice, his pleading tone...

I think that I could've lived with the lie that he didn't love me. As excruciating as it was, I've been doing it for months. And maybe I could've even lived with hating him for what he did to us. but I know I _can't_ live with this as our last encounter. I can't just walk away from him like that; I won't be able to forgive myself.

I need something more than that.

We both do.

As I storm back into his apartment I find him exactly as I left him, he hasn't moved an inch. A frown creases his brow as I walk purposefully across the room towards him, and he opens his mouth to ask me what I'm doing... but the question is lost in a kiss.

It wasn't really something I planned on doing. I knew that I had to come back here, but I didn't know what I was going to do beyond that.

Until I saw him.

I felt that uncontrollable pull in my chest, that longing, that desire to be near him. I couldn't _not_ kiss him. It's been that way since the very first time we kissed. Against all reason, against my better judgment, and my conscience, and everything else I could possibly throw at it, that _need_ won't be silenced until it's met. It blindly bulldozes its way through right and wrong, it doesn't care about anything or anyone else because _nothing_ else exists. It's terrible and beautiful, it brings out the absolute best and worst in us both. It's powerful, and destructive, and addictive.

It's the most all-consuming love that I have ever and probably will ever know.

And right here, right now, it's ending.

I know it; I can _feel_ it.

I can feel it in the way he's grasping at my jacket, desperately trying to hold on to something he know he can't keep. I can hear it in his soft, sorrowful sighs against my lips as we both fight to make this last longer than we know it  can. I can taste it in our mingled tears.

Oh God, this isn't _fair_!

I don't know who or what to blame for this, but I need to hold _something_ accountable. Whether it's my fault or his, ours or everyone else's, the whole fucking _universe_... there has to be a reason! Why couldn't we have met before? Before I met Natalie, or before she got pregnant? Or why couldn't I have found the strength I needed to leave her sooner, before the baby?

But even if I had, he still would've done what he did.

I want to be angry at him for it, but I can't. I understand it. It breaks my heart, and at the same time it makes me feel more loved than I possibly ever have in my life. I'm not sure anyone has ever done anything that selfless for me before. Completely misguided, but still... he wanted me, he _had_ me, and he was so sure that he wasn't good enough for me that he gave me up.

I just wish he'd known better. I wish he could have had more faith in his ability to make me happy.

Maybe that was our problem; we were always _more_ than enough for each other, but we were both too marred by self-doubt and insecurity to see it.

I wish I could just pick up and run with him. I don't know where to, I just want to escape. I want to leave everything we know in the dust and just _go_. But we can't. We had our chance and we both contributed to its ruin. There was a window, a brief period of time where _maybe_ we could have stepped out of our separate worlds and into one that was ours... but by the time we were done jumping back and forth through that window in terrified indecision, it had closed.

Now he's on one side, and I'm on the other.

"Fuck..." He pulls away from me suddenly, his lips torn from mine so abruptly that somehow it actually stings. "I can't."

"Tommy-"

"No." He protests breathlessly, disappointedly, drying his damn cheeks with a merciless  swipe of his palm. "You don't get it, _I can't_. You think the last couple of months have been a cake-walk for me? They've been fucking _hell_ , and I can't do it again. _Nothing's_ changed. You're gonna leave; you have to, we both know it, and that's fine. I get it. But if you're gonna go you need to do it now, because just standing here with you like this _hurts_ , and it's not fucking fair!"

"I know." I reply simply, fighting back more tears of my own as his pained expression changes to one of tentative relief right before my eyes. "I'm sorry, Tommy. That's all I was going to say. I'm sorry for flirting with you in that bar when I knew I shouldn't, and for ever letting it go any further than that when I knew how messy and complicated it would get. For dragging it out for so long when I knew it was hurting you the whole time. And for not leaving her the second I realized that you were the person I was _supposed_ to spend my life with. I never meant to hurt you, _ever_. I never meant for things to end up like this, for you to have to go through this. I don't wish I'd never met you, I _couldn't,_ but... I wish for your sake that you'd never met me. I'm just... I'm _so_ sorry for all of it. For everything." __

It seems as though my apology, and quite possibly my obvious resignation to this situation, has rendered him speechless. But it's not like there's really anything else to be said, anyway. There's nothing to be fought for, not anymore.

The battle is over, and there are no winners here.

It's exceptionally hard to simply bow out and walk away knowing that, barring some crazy twist of fate, I won't see him again after tonight. When he broke up with me two months ago, I walked out of this apartment in a shell-shocked daze. I didn't understand what was happening or why, nothing made sense. This time it's different. As we stand together in reconciled silence, saying so much and yet nothing at all, it's as though a full stop is placed at the end of our story rather than the question marks that have littered every chapter since the night we met.

Without a word, I step back. For one moment I think that he's going to stop me, I can _see_ him holding back, biting his tongue because he knows as well as I do that it's hopeless. I don't want to turn away, I don't want to lose sight of him, but every second that I spend backing away from him like this is only dragging this out longer and making it hurt more for both of us. So, with a great deal of effort, I force myself to break the stare that we're stuck in and leave.

The tears continue to roll slowly over my cheeks as I make my way down to the street, but there's no one around, and I feel safe concealed by the darkness, so I make no attempts to hide them. I know that eventually I'm going to have to call a cab and go back to the hotel, back to the life that I've chosen to live. But right now, I just want to keep walking. I need to be alone for just a little longer.

I finally feel as though I can _truly_ begin to grieve what I had, what I lost.

After a minute or two, my phone vibrates against my hand in the pocket of my jacket, and I briefly debate whether or not to look at the text I've just received. I don't really want to deal with anyone or anything right now, but if Natalie has woken up and is wondering where I went, I know I should put her mind at ease. But it's not Natalie's name I see at the top of the text message on the screen, it's just a number. One I vaguely recognize.

And the words beneath it are _very_ familiar.

_Don't be. I'm not._

 

 

 

 

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter wasn't what some of you wanted it to be, or if it didn't tie up enough loose ends to satisfy you. Just like Tommy and Taylor, it is what it is. This was what it was always going to be, from the day I decided to continue it. I was tempted along the way to make it something else, but it always came back to this. It was just who they were and where their story took them. Believe me, though, I do like to fantasize about them growing old together. lol
> 
> Thank you, again, for all of the amazing comments, support, and encouragement you've given me over the 18 months(?) that I've been writing this fic. They meant SO much to me and I'm so grateful! I'll miss you guys. <3


	68. Chapter 68

Not a new chapter, sorry. ;) For anyone who doesn't follow me on twitter and didn't know about this, I just posted a [SNAFU Soundtrack](http://darenotlove.livejournal.com/17632.html) over on LJ.


End file.
